


The Little Things

by ditsypersephone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:45:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 26,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7226707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ditsypersephone/pseuds/ditsypersephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my Sherlolly drabbles/one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Value (or The Five Stages)

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the ficlets have originally been posted on my tumblr. Some were inspired by prompts received, some come from personal headcanons and musings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A supernatural reimagining of what happened at end of The Reichenbach Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written before S3 aired, so it ignores all events from thereon.

**1\. Denial**

Mycroft Holmes sat perfectly still in the plush chair of his Club. The Day had come. The Debt must finally be settled. He’d tried to delay it for as long as he could, to give Sherlock time to grow. But time had run out and he feared that it hadn’t been enough to change a heart.

He had nothing else to give in exchange, his own soul pawned too often to still be of any real worth.

He used to believe that his younger brother would rise up to the challenge. John Watson had been a godsend, an ally he so badly needed in the salvation of Sherlock. But John Watson was not a miracle-worker. His faith in his brother had blinded him to the point of denial.

And now Sherlock would be lost and there was nothing he could do to save his little brother from himself.

* * *

 

**2\. Anger**

Sherlock Holmes counted the heartbeats pounding in his chest that felt too tight. Everything he’d known, everything he had believed about his world was a lie. He’d been a fraud among the living, existing on borrowed time.

There was a story from his childhood, a childhood he only had a vague recollection of. The memories felt dark and suffocating, so he’d never willingly dwelt on them. The story had been about a boy’s heart. He couldn’t recall the particulars, only the lesson that it had meant to teach.

Love will make a heart strong.

They’d been instructions, not a fairy tale. He’d failed to grasp this simplest of things.

And now They’d come to claim their Due and he had wasted away his second chance at life.

* * *

 

**3\. Bargaining**

Molly Hooper looked at the familiar figures standing by the dead body on the examination table. She knew what was going to happen and knew, too, that Sherlock Holmes would be found lacking. So she made her offer, praying that it would be enough to persuade Them.

She watched as They took his heart and placed it on Their scale. She saw that she’d been right. Despair pierced her heart. If They will not accept the bargain, he would be lost forever.

Somewhere deep inside her mind she heard Them say “This was already his second chance. You have faith he will not fail again?”

“Yes,” she said out loud, conviction giving her soft voice steel.

With a gasp, Sherlock Holmes woke up on the table and the deal was done.

It was not a sacrifice. Her heart had always been his.

* * *

 

 

 

**4\. Depression**

Sherlock Holmes had lived his former life as if he owed nothing and no one. 

It had been a comfortable way of existing as he’d been bound only by his conscience. And his conscience hadn’t been tethered by ordinary sentiment, unlike other people’s. 

But his life now had a specific price and he doubted he had the currency to pay for it. 

It would’ve been better if Mycroft had just let him slip away the first time. He’d squandered his second chance so easily, even with John’s good influence. Molly may have foolishly gambled on a losing bet. 

Their love weighed him down and he hated it. Hated being bound to them. Hated owing them. Above all, he hated the feeling of being unworthy of all this love. And he was afraid, so very afraid to let them down again

And he was afraid, so very afraid to let them down again

* * *

 

**5\. Acceptance**

Mycroft Holmes had always known the consequences of his actions. So when his life had been tallied and the results proclaimed, there were no surprises. But he allowed himself a moment of regret. He was human, after all.

Molly Hooper had always hoped that the choices she’d made would contribute to something bigger. But she knew that only one decision had really mattered to her. And she had not been given cause to regret it. It had helped to mould a good man, after all.  

Sherlock Holmes had never thought his life would end this way. Quiet, peaceful and fulfilled. The greatest lesson had been learned and practiced with great care.

Regret was unnecessary. He’d repaid his debts in full, after all.


	2. Five Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A silly cracky thing. Nudity involved.

Later, she would remember how steady her hands had been. How calm her breathing.

Right now, she was expertly unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt, rolling him over to get it off. She moved on to his trousers, undoing the belt, button, zipping down the fly. She’d gotten rid of shoes and socks first. Then grabbing his boxers shorts too, she had him completely naked in less than ten seconds.

Starting from his head, she inspected ever inch of his body, from his scalp to his feet. Noting every scar, every discoloration, she couldn’t find any break in the skin that Sherlock had told her to look for. She glanced at the clock on the wall, acutely aware of every second ticking by. He’d told her five minutes, give or take, and almost four were up.

She looked at the unconscious man, willing him to give her a clue, anything to help her save him. But he remained motionless, unresponsive.

If he died, she thought, he’d never forgive her. Later, she would smile at the absurd thought.

Something niggled at the back of her head. She closed her eyes, willing it to surface. And then there it was, the detail that had escaped her.

The scar, near his knee. It looked odd. It had felt odd. She wished she had more time to inspect it fully but the second hand was ticking too loudly.

She grabbed the scalpel and made one precise incision. She felt it, small, solid and using the tweezers, she managed to get it out intact. Her trained mind instantly catalogued the foreign object and she carefully placed it in the pan. But as she did so, it disintegrated. Later, she would describe it to Sherlock with as much detail as she could.

She headed to the telephone, called for an emergency team, explaining the situation.

It took them five minutes to get down to the morgue.

Later, she would visit Sherlock in his hospital room, with John lecturing him on his rather reckless behavior that had led to the situation. John would look at her with admiration. Sherlock would even express his gratitude by saying “Thank you” to her. She would sit there, blushing, obviously pleased by the two men’s reactions.

But right now, waiting for the team to get here, she was telling herself that she was staring intently at the unexpected small tattoo near his hip and not at his rather large cock.


	3. There's Always a First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly Hooper had entertained many vivid fantasies involving Sherlock through the years. But nothing could have prepared her for the reality of actually making love to Sherlock for the first time. Especially as she’d never fantasized him still wearing his socks during.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PWP. Contains Smut. Or at least I attempted it. Includes 1% Johntent.

Her zipper caught in the fabric of her (expensive) dress. Sherlock impatiently tugged the garment down, while Molly simultaneously attempted to pull the dress over her head. Their opposite efforts caused her to bang her shin on the coffee table. (She would admire the bruise the next day. So would he. It would also lead to their second time making love).

  
Getting Sherlock’s dress shirt off took equal, if not more, effort, despite her ripping it open (much like she had fantasized so many times before). Her raking her fingernails down his chest and abdomen distracted him from completing the task. And when she experimentally flicked her tongue over his right nipple while caressing the other with her thumb, he could neither find the coordination or even remember how to get the shirt all the way off.

By the time he’d figured out that he had to unbutton his cuffs first, he was already stripped down to his socks and Molly was fully naked, doing glorious things to his cock.

(Later, Molly would remember the sight of Sherlock sprawled on her couch, arms imprisoned by the crisp dress shirt, his hands desperately trying to find some hold as she reduced the usually collected consulting detective to a heaving mess with her tongue and fingers. It would be a gift and weapon she would bestow and wield in the years after.)

  
With his arms finally free, he pushed Molly away from his lap (afraid of ending the evening prematurely) and launched into a tactile exploration of her body. Her firm breasts were kissed and caressed with fascination and his fingers travelled downward to discover the ticklish spot near her navel. When he reached the wet heat of her, he stroked her lazily before leaning forward, nuzzling and mirroring her previous action by flicking his tongue against her clit.

  
Displaying an assertiveness that he was only yet becoming familiar with (or aware of), Molly showed him exactly how she liked to be touched and Sherlock was an eager student. (He was also keen to prove that he could affect her just as she had with her skills. Molly would be forever grateful for that particular streak of competitiveness in him.)

  
When she finally came, face contorted in pain/pleasure and chanting obscenities, it took every ounce of his willpower not to come right then and there. Seeing her reduced to this beautiful creature, almost animalistic in her pleasure, gave Sherlock the most intense satisfaction he’d ever known. No case or drug had ever done that for him.

  
She drew him to her, hooking her legs around his body and lazily kissing the sides of his mouth. The thought that she could taste herself on him, made his hips buck, nudging at her core. She kissed him on the mouth and he continued to grind against her, holding her close. She nipped at his bottom lip, causing him to growl and dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her bum to press her more fully into him.

“I need…” he panted.

“Yes,” she replied, reaching between them to guide him towards her entrance. He’d wanted to be slow but ended up penetrating her in one thrust. Molly hissed, tensing and he immediately stilled.

Cradling her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Nodding, she smiled and then kissed the tip of his nose in absolution and encouragement at the same time. Withdrawing carefully, he was more gentle when he slid into her the second time. They soon found a steady rhythm, her soft moans spurring him on. Her hand slid down between them, to touch herself and him, her fingertips stroking his perineum.  
Too soon (he thought it a bloody miracle that he’d even lasted this long), he could feel his own release overwhelm him. She followed closely with her second. The sensation of her pulsing around his cock was almost too much for him to bear.

  
“Molly, Molly, Molly…” he repeated over and over, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She hugged him close, shivering.

Then she giggled and shifted so she could look at him.

“You’re still wearing your socks.”

* * *

John Watson would forever assume that Molly gifting Sherlock socks was a reference to the man’s fiercely protected sock index. 


	4. If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly blurts out something...not so good. Silly/cracky thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been years since I've written this and it is still one of my favourite drabbles. Written before S2 aired, I think.

Someone once said to her that she couldn’t possibly be normal because she liked girly things and dead bodies. She had wondered if something was wrong with her when she couldn’t find anything wrong with liking girly things and dead bodies.

It wasn’t as if the two things were mutually exclusive. (Or were they?) And it wasn’t as if she got off on dead bodies or fluffy pink things. Because that would be weird. Especially getting off on fluffy pink things.

But in the interest of fitting in, she cleverly disguised one with the other, telling people that she surrounded herself with bright and shiny things to compensate for the dark and cold facts she faced at work every day.

Some days she wondered if that wasn’t so much a lie as a half-truth. However, most days, an unexpected finding at an autopsy generated the same amount of delight as finding an adorable lilac fluffy toy at a knick-knack shop.

She couldn’t help it if her default setting was bubbly and optimistic with a touch of self-deprecating and macabre. And as much as she couldn’t resist hugging soft and cuddly stuffed animals in shops, she couldn’t help wondering what people looked like naked and dead.

It was just a clinical, abstract - scientific - thought. It came with the job, a professional hazard, if you will. It wasn’t as if she fantasised about killing people, only about how they’d look like on the table, under those harsh lights.

Being able to look at - and inside - people without them looking back at her - or worse, interacting with her - it sometimes made her wish that living people could be as uncomplicated.

Not that corpses were uncomplicated. Though most were. Blood and guts and bits, all in perfect order, just like the textbook said it would be. But some hid delightful surprises, like human Kinder Eggs. She loved those – a little assembly required, a little ingenuity. She had never really liked the chocolate, though.

Oh, perhaps she was a little creepy. Who wondered what people looked like dead for scientific reasons or morbid curiosity? She was normal enough to know that it was better to keep those thoughts to herself.

The one time she hadn’t kept them to herself – a night out with the girls and one gin and tonic too many – they looked at her with disgust and she had to quickly change the subject by mentioning the bloody hedge. That was the only time she voluntarily invoked the topic of the hedge.  
__

So, hearing the words come out of her mouth was a real shock to her. She’d been so careful. And she thought that after the whole ‘Jim’ disaster, she’d be better at keeping her mouth shut.

But no, it had slipped out and echoed along the cold walls of the morgue.

It was his fault. Well, it wasn’t, really. He couldn’t be blamed for being so attractive – in an odd sort of way.

To his credit, he didn’t react the way she expected anyone normal would. But then again, he wasn’t normal, either.

Their children wouldn’t have a chance at a well-adjusted adulthood without daily visits to a therapist.

And why was she thinking of mutual children, when her statement earlier guaranteed any future interaction would now be terminated?

He stilled in his action of examining the body and turned to look at her. Blinked, once, twice. How could something so ordinary be so sexy?

There was surprise on his face – that one was expected. She was surprised and the words had come out of her mouth.

“I would make a beautiful corpse?” he said and there…there it was! The unexpected.

He was smiling. Well, not so much as smiling but there was clearly amusement on his face. Surprise and amusement. Not surprise and disgust - or bewilderment, at least.

No, surprise and amusement. Or maybe bemusement, she wasn’t exactly sure.

But definitely no disgust.

Yet despite the lack of disgust, one simply did not say these things to other people.

She opened her mouth and tried, really tried, to say something to undo the damage. Anything. But most of her brain was still in shock, so all that came out was “You would.”

She would have died quite happily in that moment, just to get out of this. But it was too cold for spontaneous human combustion and she doubted that there was any god merciful enough to execute an act upon her.

She could just walk away and move to another country, even going to the lengths of assuming a new identity. Grow a beard or something.

Or she could just kill him and plead temporary insanity due to severe embarrassment. She could shove the dead body – it was well over 300 pounds – on top of him and suffocate him with it. She could maybe even get away with making it look like an accident.

The part of her brain that was in charge of fight or flight was quickly going through all her options, when finally the rational bit of her brain unfroze from the shock.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what…I…sometimes…just, well…eep?” she stammered.

She probably should just run. But his stare kept her there.

He tilted his head and studied her. She licked her lips involuntarily. He smiled.

He actually smiled. And it was one of those full-on, wrinkles in the corner of the eyes smiles, too! 

She felt like a deer caught in the headlights, except deer couldn’t possibly have these many conflicting thoughts in their head. They just didn’t have the IQ or the lack of social skills.

“I’m done here,” he said, zipping up the body bag. The metal sound seemed obscenely loud in the quiet.

“Okay,” she managed to breathe. ‘Don’t say anything else, Molly, just let him walk out. Just keep your mouth shut, girl, and maybe find a new hospital to work in. Somewhere in the South Pacific.’

He adjusted his scarf and walked around the table so he stood in front of her. She wanted to look away but he was just too compelling.

“I’ll notify the Yard of my findings,” he said and all Molly managed was “Uh-hm”. 

‘Good, Molly, just keep it neutral, just sounds, no words, we might get through this,’ the sensible voice in her head said. ‘That scarf looks really soft, I bet it’s cashmere,’ the fluff obsessed bit chimed in. And then a little voice, at the back of her head, whispered ‘Go on, touch it. You know you want to.’

The sensible one said, ‘Be quiet, you’ve been enough trouble already!’ and the fluff obsessed whined, ‘But it’s so cozy looking’ and the little troublemaker persuaded ‘You’ve already made a mess of things, why not take advantage?’

Sensible one hissed in shock ‘You cannot kiss him!’ and the tiny voice chuckled amused, ‘Who said anything about kissing him?’ Fluffy merely erupted into excited giggles.

And Sherlock said, “You look hungry.”

“I beg your pardon?” Molly asked, as the voices in her head fell silent from surprise.

“You eat, don’t you?” he asked, looking rather unsure of himself. It was so endearing she almost wanted to hate him for it.

“Yes?” she replied, while Fluffy in her head was erupting into fits of ‘Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!’ and Sensible was desperately trying to keep control over things. Little voice grinned smugly.

“Your shift’s almost over.”

That was true, so she said, “Yes.”

“How do you feel about Italian?” That smile again, that persuasive devil’s smile.

“I took French in school,” she replied. Little voice face-palmed itself. Sensible just shook its head, ‘There’s no hope.’

Sherlock laughed.

And Fluffy? Well, Fluffy almost overdosed on giddy that night.


	5. The Temptations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock are stuck in a lift. Unexpected things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set somewhere between S1/S2. Lyrics from "My Girl" by The Temptations. The song makes me really happy. 1% Johntent.

_“I got sunshine on a cloudy day.”_

Molly Hooper was singing. Molly Hooper was singing in a lift. Molly Hooper was singing in a lift that seemed to be stuck between the second and first floor. And he, Sherlock Holmes, was stuck there too.

_“When it’s cold outside, I got the month of May.”_

“Molly, stop singing.” He sent a text to John.

She ignored him. _“I guess, you’ll say, what can make me feel this way?”_

“Please?” He rarely said please. He read John’s reply. Bloody useless.

_“My girl. Talkin’ ‘bout my girl…”_

She had a decent voice. Good sense of rhythm. The lift had amazing acoustics.

_“I’ve got so much honey, the bees envy me."_

That reminded him to contact that man in Suffolk about the hives.

_“I’ve got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees.”_

He supposed the singing was preferable to a panic attack.

_“Well, I guess you’ll say, what can make me feel this way?”_

She was really getting into the singing now. And it was…entertaining? Charming?

_“My girl. Talkin’ 'bout my girl…”_

Why this song? Upbeat tempo, steady beat. Calming.

He studied her. The usual serviceable clothes underneath the lab coat, more for comfort than allure. Shoes the same. Hair in a neat plait, making her look younger than her thirty odd years. Mascara and a touch of blush. The faint stain of berry lipstick. She smelled of chemicals and disinfectant, a faint note of lemon underneath, probably her soap. Oddly pleasing, he thought, then frowned. At himself.

She was still singing. With her whole body, like a trained singer would. Lessons then, in her youth probably. Choir most likely. She seemed at ease. She’d never been this relaxed around him. Strange, considering the situation. It was rather…nice.

The lift suddenly jerked into motion and then the doors pinged open. A man in overalls greeted them.

“Ah, still on The Temptations…” he said, grinning smugly.

“Almost broke the record, too” Molly replied with a smile.

“Next time,” he said, waved and walked off. Sherlock followed as Molly made her way to the stairs.

“How often does the lift break?” he asked. His phone vibrated. He glanced at the display. Lestrade.

“Too often,” she replied. From the corner of his eye, he saw frown briefly.

“Seems a hazard,” he commented, reading the new message on the phone.

“Essential staff know to avoid it,” she said, “My patients tend to be…you know…dead, so it doesn’t really matter.” She shrugged and gave him one of those nervous smiles he knew too well.

“Your cultures should be ready by now,” she added, tucked a non-existent errant strand behind her ear.

The usual tension was back. They were silent for the rest of the way to the basement. Sherlock tapped away on his phone, ignoring the odd sense of loss.

* * *

John heard the music even before he entered the building. Sherlock was on the violin again. Great. He tried to remember if he had any ear plugs left.He listened

He listened to the piece, to see what mood Sherlock was in. The texts from two hours ago didn’t promise anything good.

John had never heard Sherlock play it before. It didn’t even sound like Sherlock’s style.

It did, however, sound a lot like a song he once - to his eternal embarrassment - sang to a girl.


	6. RTFM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes is a genius, so he doesn't need help with things. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always been my headcanon that Molly Hooper is really, really good at things. I mean, Sherlock's trust in her has to come from somewhere. Set somewhere in S2. 100% Johntent.

Sherlock burst through the door, with John following at a more reasonable pace. Molly looked up from the paperwork she’d been doing and greeted the two men with a small friendly smile and a “Hello.”

Sherlock, who was carrying a medium sized box, gave her a small nod. John, who was carrying two plastic bags full of…shopping? Molly could make out a packet of hobnobs and milk. Anyway, John gave her a friendly if rather beleaguered smile and a “Hi Molly.”

The poor man probably hadn’t had any proper sleep in the past few days. Sherlock was on a case and even she’d been fed up by his demands for tests and analyses.

“Anything?” Sherlock said to her.

“I’m sorry but we’ve run every test we could think of,” Sherlock’s eyebrow twitched but Molly ignored him and continued, “There is no evidence of poisoning.”

“But the values…”

“None of the values - elevated or otherwise - suggest that something had been done to him to induce the cardiac arrest.”

“But what if there was a combination…”

Molly shook her head, “We’ve considered that, too. But none of the traces found in his body or on his clothes or at the crime scene- alone or combined - would have caused the attack.”

Sherlock picked up on the verb “Would…”

Molly sighed, “Could have, Sherlock. Could have. Unless there was some other existing medical condition - I’ve seen the records and I didn’t find anything in the examination - Edmund Talbot’s death appears to be of natural causes. What they are, though, I cannot conclusively say.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow, looking extremely displeased by her announcement.

“A wealthy man - healthy and in his prime - with a young wife he was about to divorce and an estranged brother usually does not die of natural causes.”

“And just because the facts tick all the right boxes does not mean he was killed either,” John replied. Molly inferred that this was an argument they had before. The poor man really did look tired.

“Oh John, so little imagination,” Sherlock tutted.

John scowled, “You just don’t want to lose the bet.”

Sherlock grinned, “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” John muttered and sat down on a chair. Molly gave him a commiserating smile, which he reciprocated gratefully.

“Coffee?” she asked him and Sherlock immediately replied with “Yes. Black, two sugars.”

She gave him an irritated look, mainly because he gave the same instructions every single time as if she couldn’t be trusted to remember something as simple as that.

“John?” she asked the other man, sweetly.

“I rather fancy a cup of tea,” he answered, hopeful.

“Tea it is, then,” she said, leaving the two men behind to make the beverages. She tried to remember if she still had some ginger biscuits left. John seemed to like them. She remembered something that had occurred to her during her examination of Edmund Talbot but at the time had dismissed it. Perhaps now, the observation had some bearing on the case.

* * *

By the time she got back to the lab, the box Sherlock had been carrying earlier had been opened and the contents spread all over the work counter. Sleek metallic pieces in different shapes and sizes, nuts and bolts and something that looked like a gutted out mobile phone cluttered her workspace. Someone had the grace to shift her paperwork to the side, in an untidy pile.

“Here’s your tea,” she announced to John. He looked up from his contemplation of two elements, smiling at the mug she’d offered and then at her. She plonked Sherlock’s coffee at a safe distance from the mess.

“What’s all this?” she asked, unable to keep the slight irritation out of her voice. She’d been looking forward to an afternoon of undisturbed paperwork and now Sherlock had turned her tidy and quiet lab into Frankenstein’s workshop.

“A puzzle,” he replied gleefully, picking up the mobile phone lookalike, studying it.

“And the reason why you have to solve it here…” she asked archly.

“Time is of the essence. Deadlines and all that,” he answered dismissively, while picking up on of the metallic pieces and trying to fit it with the console in his hand.

“If this is some sort of doomsday device, I’d rather you not assemble it in my lab,” she commented.

“John,” he said to his companion, ignoring her, “this clearly fits here, see…” and he demonstrated exactly what he meant.

Shaking her head, Molly retreated to the corner where her paperwork was and quietly finished her work. The two men kept a running commentary while doing their task.

“Bloody stupid nuts…”

“John, the angle would suggest…”

“Fuck the angle, these tiny screws are driving me mad.”

“Have you connected the…”

“Yes, I have connected the wiring like you told me to!”

"It’s not working, John.”

“I can see that, Sherlock.”

“It should be working.”

“Evidently, it’s not.”

“But we’ve done all the…“

 

* * *

 

The argument was still going on when Molly signed the last form. She stretched her back, rolled her head and with a pleased smile, slid the forms into the folder. She looked over at the two men, bickering over what looked like a small - well, she wasn’t quite sure what it looked like. If she’d been pressed to give a description, it looked a lot like a mobile phone with Meccano pieces surrounding it.

Sherlock was pushing a lever but whatever it was supposed to do, it didn’t. He furiously scowled  at it.

"Why is it not working?” he asked John.

John, looking even more exhausted than before, seemed to be at the end of his patience, “I don’t fucking know, Sherlock. You’re the genius. You’re the one who knows where all the bits go.”

“Why are you so angry?”

Molly thought John was going to hit his friend, but he simply huffed and walked off to the other side of the lab. Leaning against the counter, he rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself.

Sherlock’s attention was back on the thing in front of him. He looked at it, turned it, looked at it some more. Molly watched him, questioning why she found him so attractive when something white caught her eye. She thought she’d accomplished all the forms she had pending. Reaching for the pieces of paper, she realized that it was a small booklet.

She looked at it, then at Sherlock, back at the booklet, then at John - who seemed to be eating biscuits now - and then back at the booklet. Then she looked around, as if trying to question the room in general whether this was happening or not. The room naturally didn’t answer but it didn’t matter, anyway, because it was happening.

“Sherlock…” she tried to say but the man shushed her.

“I’m thinking,” he added.

“But…”

He looked at her, irritated, and said “Please.” The word sounding more like “Shut-up” than anything polite.

She scowled at him, something she’d noticed she’d been doing more often lately. She studied the booklet. It had a curious smell.

Sherlock tinkered with the thing then pushed the lever again. Nothing.

“For fuck’s sake,” he exclaimed.

Molly had enough. Walking over to Sherlock, she took the device away from him, and methodically disassembled all the bits, putting all the similar ones with each other. Then, following the illustration in the booklet put the parts back together. The end product didn’t look very dissimilar to Sherlock and John’s effort earlier but when she pushed the lever, the tiny screen flickered to life. Ones and zeros started to appear.

Sherlock looked at the screen and then at her. There was something not unlike admiration on his face. Genuine, at that.

“Perhaps I do underestimate you,” he said to her. She tried to fight it but she blushed. He gave her a quick, pleased smile, and then glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Come on, John, the game is still on,” he said, picking up the device and rushing out of the room.

John groaned but picked up his things nonetheless. With a quick bye and thank you for the tea to Molly, John followed his flatmate, his shopping bag less one box of hobnobs.

Used to their exits, Molly shrugged her shoulders and looked at the mess they’d left. She’d bring the bubble wrap home for Toby to play with.

Sherlock burst back into the room. “Molly, eight pm, Friday. Wear a nice dress,” he said and then left again.

She stood there for a moment, wondering what would happen next but when after five minutes the lab remained undisturbed, she proceeded with straightening the place.

Several thoughts raced through her head. Had Sherlock just invited her to dinner on Friday? What is it with men and instructions? Could Edmund Talbot have died from some sort of electric shock? Where did her ginger biscuits go? And what case was Sherlock working on that involved a data encryption device?

She picked up the instruction booklet but to her surprise it was blank. She thumbed the pages but all the writing she had earlier followed so carefully were no longer there. Curious. She turned the manual and there, faintly, she could make out something. She grabbed the UV light wand from one of the drawers and then carefully scanned the seemingly empty pages. There in elegant script it said:

_**Congratulations Sherlock. For once you have managed to defy my expectations and followed simple instructions.** _

_**The real code is 51° 33′ 47″ N, 0° 10′ 6″ W.** _

_**Mummy is expecting you on Sunday. Bring flowers.** _

Molly considered texting Sherlock but then decided otherwise. She wondered how long it would take for him to figure it out.

In the meantime, she wanted to know if Edmund Talbot could have possibly been electrocuted.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later in a taxi, very much in the south of London.

“The instructions make no sense.”

John, who’d been lulled into a stupor by the ride and his own fatigue, groggily replied, “You’re not making any sense.”

“Why would he send instructions if it’s supposed to be a puzzle?”

“Because he’s a Holmes and you all move in mysterious ways?” John replied, earning a look from Sherlock.

“Really, John, really?” he added.

‘Fine’, John thought, 'I’ll play your game, only to make you shut-up again.’

“Why _would_ Mycroft send instructions?”

Sherlock gave him a triumphant look, “Because it was never about the device!”

“Right.”

“Luckily Molly was there. She’s really good with these things, considering.”

John raised an eyebrow, “Considering what? That she’s a girl? That’s sexist, Sherlock.”

Sherlock ignored him, “Do you have the booklet?”

“Do I what? No…I just have the milk,” John replied, holding up the plastic bag with the shopping.

“It’s still at the lab then. Molly will have it,” Sherlock said, reaching for his mobile. He quickly tapped out a message and sent it off.

Half a minute later, he received the reply. He smiled, delighted.

“Oh you clever girl,” he murmured, looked up the coordinates and gave the driver new instructions. Then he googled expensive restaurants in London.

John just hoped that, for once, Sherlock had cash on him because all the cash machines he’d tried earlier had decided to throw a tantrum.


	7. Interested Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Mycroft ships Sherlolly.

“There’s a woman, Mummy.”

“Oh? What’s her name?”

“Molly Hooper. I think he’s interested.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a pathologist.”

“Ah, I see. And she, is she interested?”

“She definitely is. But you know how Sherlock can be. He’ll need time to sort out his feelings.”

“Oh dear. I hope she has the patience to wait.”

“So do I.”


	8. Not Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of that Molly/mirror shot in The Empty Hearse - inspired by the trailer for and written before S3 aired.

Molly jumped when she saw the figure reflected behind her in the mirror.

“Sherlock! What did I tell you about sneaking up on me?” She whipped around to look at the man. It had been such a long time since she’d seen him in the flesh, she had to reach out and touch him to make sure he was really here. Her hand connected with the solid fabric of his coat and in a rush of emotions, Molly stepped forward to hug him.

A hug which he reciprocated by gently wrapping his arms around her small frame, one hand sliding up to cradle her nape, his thumb caressing the sensitive spot behind her ear.

She inhaled deeply, his scent so familiar and so missed in the years he’d been gone. She sighed, a combination of exhilaration and joy. It was done, it was done. He was finally home.

“You were wrong, you know,” he said and she could feel the words reverberate through her, echoing the night he’d come to her with his plan.

“About what?” she murmured, unwilling to relinquish her hold on him just yet. That Sherlock hadn’t disengaged from the hug gave her heart.

“You said it was fine. You said it was okay.”

She inclined her head to look at him, frowning, “What are you on about?”

Sherlock looked down at her and she could feel his breath on her cheek. She became aware of his other hand lazily stroking up and down her spine.

“John’s moustache. It looks ridiculous.”

Her rebuttal was silenced by his kiss.


	9. For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time - "For You" by Tracy Chapman

> Deep in my heart  
> Safe from the guards  
> Of intellect and reason  
> Leaving me at a loss  
> For words to express my feelings  
>  _For You - Tracy Chapman_

 

* * *

 

Sherlock does not have a room for Molly in his Mind Palace.

But there is a small door at the back that leads outside to the entrance of a maze. He changes the design every time he goes to visit, afraid to make the path too easy for him. He will not (can not) allow sentiment to rule. His palace was built on the foundations of logic and reason.

In the centre of the maze is a garden. It’s a little bit wild and everywhere he turns there is colour and light and life and Molly.

He keeps it hidden inside the maze for years and years. But the garden grows and soon it breaks through the strong walls of its prison, slowly becoming a part of it.

At first he fights it, tries to tame it, tries to contain it. But eventually he gives up and allows nature to take its course.

He finds the courage to kiss Molly for the first time.


	10. Be careful of my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (sort of) follow-up to For You.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title also inspired by Tracy Chapman's song of the same name.

Years later, after numerous failed attempts and misunderstandings, Sherlock finally took action. He kissed her, his lips gentle on hers as his hands cradled her head as if she was something delicate and precious.

“I’ve always wondered,” he told her when the kiss ended. And silenced all her questions with another kiss. And another and another.

Hours later, she would wake from a doze to his fingers lightly tracing her vertebrae. Without thinking she turned, took his hand and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles. He tensed, pulling his hand out of hers and she instantly regretted her action.

But before she could mumble an apology, the words were out of his mouth, “I’m sorry.”

Feeling more than bewildered and vulnerable, Molly could only stare at him.

“I will not be good at this, Molly. This frightens me and I don’t like the feeling. But I am more afraid of not having you in my life…”

“I’m scared too,” she whispered.

He smiled, “Then we are in this together.”

Taking courage, she moved, pressing her body against his, cuddling close.

“Yes we are,” she mumbled against his lips.


	11. Today I Started Loving You Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly says she's moved on in The Empty Hearse. That's not really true now, is it?

> 'Cause Today I Started Loving You Again,  
>  I'm right back where I've really always been;  
>  I got over you just long enough to let my heartache mend,  
>  then Today I Started Loving You Again.  
>  _Today I Started Loving You Again - Merle Haggard_

* * *

 

She had tried. She had tried very hard and for a few innocent months, she’d convinced everyone and herself that she was over him.Maybe if he had been the same person when he’d come back, she would’ve had a real chance of moving on. He was the same but he was also different. And that difference was enough for her to doubt herself.

A part of her is angry that Tom doesn’t fight her, that he doesn’t fight for her. But she knows that this is the right thing to do.

"When you’re with him, Molls, you’re different. You’re you. I know I’m not smart like Sherlock Holmes but I’m smart enough to see when the woman I’m about to marry isn’t in love with me. I get it. It’s okay. I mean, it’s _not_ , but it will be. Someday, I’m going to meet the person who looks at me the way you look at him."

She should know better but her foolish heart still hopes that Sherlock will look back at her the same way, someday.


	12. A Kiss is (Not) Just A Kiss

“Sherlock, what was that?”

“Aren’t friends supposed to be affectionate with each other?”

“We’re friends?”

“I thought that was obvious, Molly.”

“And do you french kiss all of your friends?”

“Only the special ones.”

“Special ones?”

“Yes. Girlfriends. Girlfriend, singular. You. Just you.”

“Good.”

And to the astonishment of everyone who knew him, Sherlock Holmes did not mind at all being referred to as Molly Hooper’s boyfriend.


	13. You lose some

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary as Sherlock's wingwoman gives me life.

Mary nudged him with her shoulders, “You could just tell her.”

Sherlock stared straight ahead, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let’s not play games,” she said, smirking at she took a sip from her wine glass.

“We’re not playing games.”

“ _We’re_ not. But you’re definitely playing games with her. Stop it and tell her.”

“I…why are you doing this?”

“I want to return the favour,” she said, walking over to her husband who was talking to Molly Hooper.

John smiled at his wife, kissing her gently on the cheek. Mary turned to look back at Sherlock, a challenge in her eyes.

Sherlock took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Molly had won the game a long time ago, yet he doesn’t feel like he’d lost.


	14. Sex Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock discuss going on holiday together.

“We don’t have to get married to go on a ‘sex holiday’.”

“But what if I want us to?”

“…”

“Would you…will you…do you…”

“Chemical defect, my arse.”

“I do prefer yours, Doctor Hooper.”

“Mister Holmes, you old romantic you.”

“Molly…”

“Sherlock…”

“…will you marry me?”

“Will you still love me when my arse is old and wrinkly?”

“Mine will be older and wrinklier.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Always.”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

“You know, we can still go on a mini sex holiday before we get married.”

“How about a staycation?”

“In your bed?”

“I _was_ thinking of exploring you more thoroughly.”


	15. Gone for the Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things that happen when Molly helps Sherlock with away cases, now that John is busy with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by that one time my friend and I had to leave our hotel room because of the fire alarm. It was NOT a warm night.

She’s ripped from such a deep sleep that she feels disorientated for the first few seconds. It’s dark and it’s noisy. And then she catches on that the fire alarm had gone off.

Molly doesn’t hesitate, rolls off the bed, grabs her purse and leaves her room. She makes a stop two doors down, tries the handle to find it locked. She bangs on it loudly, calling “Sherlock! We need to get out of here!”

She pounds the wood and keeps shouting for him, knowing what the consulting detective was like post-case, catching up on his sleep. A couple of people pass by in the hallway, heading to the fire exit.

A thought pops into her head, what if he isn’t in the room? But then the door opens and a tousled looking Sherlock scowls at her. She ignores this and grabs his hand, dragging him out and towards the fire exit. He follows without any resistance and in a moment they’re outside.

And she’s glad for it because it looks like the hotel actually is on fire. Standing amongst the crowd in front, they watch billows of smoke come out of a top floor window. The firemen arrive and the police soon follow.

The hotel guests and staff are herded to a safe spot, where they watch the fireman quickly take care of the situation. With the fire extinguished and the assurance that everything is as safe as it can be for now, the crowd turns to wonder what had happened.

Before the police can ask their questions, Sherlock walks up to a fellow hotel guest and smiles at him. Molly knows that he never smiles like that unless there is a set-down to follow.

“I suggest the next time you decide to sneak away on a weekend with your lover, you don’t try and burn down the hotel you’re staying in. What would your husband think?”

His announcement has a particular impact, given that the only thing he’s wearing is a sheet around his waist. Molly Hooper doesn’t need to be a genius at deduction to know that Sherlock Holmes is completely naked underneath.

It’s a shame, she thinks, that it’s a perfectly lovely summer night. She would have been glad to share her warmth with the consulting detective.


	16. I Can See You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Greg go out together to be each other's wing-person and don't mention to Sherlock that they see him stalking them.

“He thinks he’s so smooth.”

“He’s a dork, Greg. A big sexy bum dork!”

“How many have you had, Molly?”

“Not enough…not enough. How about that one?”

“Good eye, Doctor Hooper.”

“Thank you, Detective Inspector.”

“Do you think she…”

“How can she resist this silver fox?”

“Maybe you should put the consulting baby out of his misery?”

“…but I have such a nice view of his bum from here.”

“He’s all arse, isn’t he?”

“I want to touch it.”


	17. Mine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an Anon prompt: Toby loves Sherlock's scarf. Sherlock isn't so happy about this, but Molly's having a great time looking at them.

“Molly! He’s stolen my scarf again!”

“It’s your fault for leaving it on the sofa.”

“Get off, you beast, this is my scarf.”

“Mreooowww!”

“Sherlock! Don’t hit the cat!”

“I’m not hitting him. I’m trying to gently lift him away from MY scarf. He’s the one with the claws out!”

“Let him have it. You have other scarves.”

“But you gave me this one.”

* * *

 

“Just because I’m letting you have it doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

“Meowww…prrrrrrrrrrrrrr….”

“Silly cat.”

“Prrrrrrrrrr….prrrrrrrrrrrrrr…”

“I’m not going to rub your belly.”

“Meowow…prrrrrrrrrrrr…”

“Fine. But the scarf is still mine.”

Molly quietly smiles at the two ‘men’ in her life - Toby splayed on Sherlock’s scarf and the consulting detective running his fingers through the cat’s soft fur.


	18. Try and Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt by Selenaguardi: Sherlock finally realising what he's feeling for Molly tries to ask her out but fails adorably everytime because he's got no idea how to do such a thing. Molly actually knows what he's doing but let's him struggle a bit for all the shit he's put a her through and because it's actually quite funny too watch.

“Uhm…Molly? Coffee?”

“Can you get it yourself? I want to finish this paperwork before my shift ends.”

“No…I meant…you…coffee.”

“Oh, yes please. Milk, no sugar.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

“What’s this experiment then?”

“It’s a…uhm…a thing. We can order takeaway later or go out.”

“I already ate, thanks. But you order something if you get hungry.”

“You might get hungry later…”

“I might. We’ll see. Does the experiment involve these candles?”

“…no.”

* * *

 

“Jurassic Park?”

“I’ve never seen it. Have you?”

“Yes. You really want to watch this?”

“…yeah? Unless you have other plans? I mean, that’s fine…I’ll just leave.”

“No, stay. It’s fine. We can watch it if you want. I’m just concerned that you’ll be upset about the science in it.”

“John has advised me of this. But you like dinosaurs, don’t you?”

“I may have a thing or two for them.”

“Good…good…good.”

“And Jeff Goldblum.”

“Who?”

* * *

 

“You’re free on Friday.”

“Eh…yes. Why?”

“There’s a thing…I have to do…and you come with me?”

“Is it a case?”

“…sort of?”

“Is it a case or not?”

“No. But it’s a thing.”

“A thing.”

“A gala thing.”

“A Mycroft thing?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to come with you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It would be fun?”

“Do you want to go?”

“Not really.”

“Then don’t go.”

“But you could come with me.”

“And how would that improve things?”

“Because…it’s you.”

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“What is this?”

“…I don’t know.”

“What do you want it to be?”

“…more?”

“More what?”

“More us.”

“Is there an ‘us’?”

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“No?”

“Oh you daft man, I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Rising on her tiptoes, she pulled his face towards her and kissed him. To which he eagerly responded. Very eagerly.

“Better?”

“More please.”


	19. The Case of the Cat Who Followed Him Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an Anon prompt: A stray cat follows Sherlock back to 221B and doesn't know what to do and calls Molly?? Maybe ends a little fluffy?

“Molly, I need you to come over.”

“Okay, why?”

“I have a…situation."

“What’s going on, Sherlock? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not. I mean, apart from the black eye but that’s fine. It’s something else.”

“You have to be more specific, Sherlock.”

“…it’s a cat."

“I beg your pardon?”

“A cat, Molly, a feline. A fluffy meowing thing.”

“…a fluffy meowing thing.”

“Yes.”

“I really do need more details.”

“Just come over. Please?”

* * *

 

“Wow. That really is a fluffy meowing thing.”

“What do I do with it?”

“What happened exactly?”

“It followed me home and when I opened the front door, it went straight up to the flat. It’s been exploring ever since.”

“It might belong to someone.”

“There’s no collar.”

“If it belongs to someone then it will probably have a chip.”

“And if it doesn’t belong to someone?”

“I suggest you take it to a vet or a shelter, they’ll be able to help. Or you could adopt-”

“I can’t have a cat, Molly!”

“Why not? I think it would do you good to have a pet around.”

“Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t allow it.”

“Mrs. Hudson has been thinking of getting a cat of her own.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me?”

“When?”

“A while ago…anyway, check if the cat belongs to anyone and go from there.”

“Yes, yes, I know…I’m the consulting detective here, remember?”

“You called it a fluffy meowing thing.”

“…”

* * *

 

“Awww, the family must’ve been really happy that you brought their Porridge home.”

“What a ridiculous name for a cat.”

“Sush, you liked that cat.”

“…Mrs. H won’t stop talking about getting a cat, you know.”

“Her birthday’s coming up…”

“Or you could just move in with me…I’m sure she’d love Toby.”

“Did you just…are you serious?”

“I know it’s only been ten months but…this is kind of a forever deal with me.”

“Forever…as in…”

“As in, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Oh.”

“Just ‘oh’?”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

 

“You know, if Mrs. H got a cat of her own, Toby could have a feline companion.”

“…when’s her birthday again?”


	20. Pseudonym

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by Kelseyrare: Molly writes a book behind a pseudonym that has parallels to Sherlock and the gang. Show us What Sherlock does/say to Molly after John accidentally finds it and shows him?

“A.C. Doyle?”

“…excuse me?"

“Don’t play games, Molly.”

“…okay, fine. How did you find out?”

“I’m a detective, Molly.”

“If we’re being honest here, I expect the same-”

“Okay, John showed me the book.”

“So John found out before you? It’s been three years.”

“Actually, it was Mary. She told John.”

“…”

“You told Mary? Mary knew all this time?”

“…it kind of was her idea in the first place.”

“So you and Mary did all this behind our backs? How? Why? How? Why?”

“It started as a joke. We got drunk one night and I confessed to her that I wrote fanfiction-”

“Fanfiction?”

“It’s when-”

“I know what fanfiction is. How did I not know this about you?”

“You see but don’t observe.”

“…”

“Anyway, I thought it would be funny to write something about you and John and send it to her. And things kind of spiralled from there.”

“You wrote a book. That got published. And had generally positive reviews.”

“Yep.”

“And you never thought to tell me?”

“I did think about telling you…but…I don’t know…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Have you…have you read it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And?”

“I think…I think if you write a sequel, Violet Scott’s relationship with her colleague Parker Brown needs to be further explored.”

“Oh? Why do you think that?”

“It’s obvious that there are some feelings there, isn’t it?”

“…Parker definitely has a crush on her, yes. But Violet’s all about the mission.”

“There’s subtext.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.”

“Most people think Violet should end up with her second-in-command, Sam.”

“They care for each other, yes, but Violet is clearly attracted to Parker.”

“I didn’t write her that way.”

“No? Maybe I’m projecting then.”

“Sherlock…”

“Yes, Molly?”

“Don’t tease me. It’s cruel.”

“I’m not teasing and I never want to be cruel to you. I know I have been, in the past. But I’m an idiot, Molly.”

“I know.”

“And I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me.”

“Okay.”

Toby watched, disinterestedly, as the two humans kissed in the hallway, bumping into furniture and things. Later, he would cry plaintively outside the locked bedroom door.

* * *

 

“…do you want to read the draft for the new book?”

“There’s a sequel then?”

“It might need a little reworking.”

“Care for some inspiration?”

“Always.”

Luckily, one of the humans had remembered to fill Toby’s food bowl and left out some extra treats. While they continued with their business in the bedroom, he snoozed contentedly in his own bed by the window.


	21. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt by Kelseyrare: Sherlock is fascinated with how Molly can cut up a cadaver with a smile on her face and laughter pouring through her lips but bawl when he tells her he bought two guinea pigs to experiment on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF.

“Did you know you have a specific smile when you’re performing a particularly interesting autopsy?”

“I do?”

“Yes. And a giggle when something unexpected comes up.”

“Really? That sounds a bit unprofessional.”

“I think it’s adorable.”

* * *

 

“Why are you crying?”

“Just look at their faces! How can you even think of experimenting on them?”

“Molly…”

“I’m sorry, but they’re just too cute.”

“…cries the woman who cuts up bodies for a living.”

“Are they really necessary for whatever experiment you have in mind?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can forget about me helping you. I won’t help you with this.”

“…I’m not going to harm them, you know.”

“Yeah? What have you planned, then?”

“I just wanted to make sure they’re suitable pets for a three-year old.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Have you asked Mary and John if it’s okay to give Hannah two guinea pigs?”

“Of course!”

“That’s okay then.”

“Yes. Now come over here and let me help you dry your tears.”

“I’m sorry if I reacted so emotionally. It’s just…well…maybe in three years we can get our own guinea pigs?”

“…”

“Sherlock?”

“…”

And in the five minutes of radio silence from the consulting detective, the two guinea pigs happily squeaked and explored their cage.


	22. Home Improvements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from an Anon: Sherlock is troubled about the fact that Molly is redecorating and has decided to change her wallpaper, she ends up moving into 221B altogether after they render her flat uninhabitable.

“…how did this happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’re two intelligent people. We’ve read the instructions. How?”

“It’s a mystery, Molly.”

“No, Sherlock, it’s a mess. Not just a mess - a disaster. A complete disaster.”

“…it’s not THAT bad.”

“This is not the time for kindness.”

“It’s exactly the time for kindness. Why don’t you and Toby stay at Baker Street tonight and we’ll come back to this tomorrow.”

“Or we could start a fire. Burn everything down.”

“Jokes, Molly.”

“Baker Street it is then.”

“I’ll wrangle Toby while you pack.”

* * *

 

“I should have just hired a decorator. I have some money saved up.”

“I know someone who owes me a favour.”

“Do you? Would you…”

“Alright.”

* * *

 

“I don’t know, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Hooper seems like a nice lady.”

“She is.”

“And it’s not that big of a job, easily done in a week or so. I could schedule it -”

“Yes, yes, yes. But I that’s not what I want.”

“I’m a simple man at heart, and I think there are easier ways of going about this, Mr. Holmes.”

“Well, I am a complicated man.”

* * *

 

By the time Molly Hooper’s flat had been renovated and redecorated, enough time had passed for her to find out about Sherlock’s deception, for him to grovel and beg for forgiveness, and for both to finally get on the same page and start their life together.

And Toby had found his new favourite napping spot - Sherlock’s chair.


	23. Playground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an Anon prompt: Kid!lock? Their first meeting at a playground Mycroft 'lost' Sherlock in.

“Daddy, I think he’s lost.”

“Why do you think that, Molly?”

“It’s just him. I don’t think that’s right. Do you?”

“Hm, no. We’ll keep an eye on him. Maybe his parents are nearby.”

* * *

 

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“Yes you are, those are tears on your face.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Go away.”

“Did you lose your mummy or your daddy?”

“I said, go away!”

“My daddy can help.”

“Your daddy’s an idiot.”

“That’s…that’s not a nice thing to say. You don’t know my daddy.”

“I don’t want to know your daddy and I don’t want to know you. Go away!”

“…okay.”

* * *

 

“I know you told me to go away, but if you’re hungry, here’s a sandwich and a Capri Sun. Okay, bye!”

* * *

 

“Can you play somewhere else?”

“I guess.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Don’t wanna.”

* * *

 

“My Aunt Millie’s cat had kittens. Mummy told me we could have one. Do you like cats?”

“No.”

“Dogs?”

“…I hate dogs.”

“Don’t cry, it’s okay to not like dogs.”

“I’M NOT CRYING!”

* * *

 

“Pirates?”

“Pirates.”

“Pirates are cool, I guess.”

“They are. They’re very cool.”

* * *

 

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! How dare you run away like that!”

“Go away, Myke!”

“Mummy and Father have been worried!”

“Did they get angry at you?”

“It’s time to go home.”

“Piss off!”

“I’ll tell Mummy on your language.”

“I’ll tell Mummy about the cake.”

* * *

 

“I have to go.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for the sandwich. And playing with me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry I said your daddy’s an idiot. He’s a nice man.”

“He is.”

“Uhm, goodbye, Molly."

“Goodbye, William.”


	24. Heard it through the grapevine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt by Potterlockianegalitarian928: Molly overhears John and Mary talking about Sherlock being in love with her on her and Tom's wedding day.

“Why now?”

“You weren’t meant to find out.”

“You have horrible timing, Sherlock Holmes, you know that?”

“I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please, just forget what I said. Forget me.”

“Sure. That’s easy. I’m going to go through the rest of my life like this never happened.”

“You’ll live a far happier life.”

* * *

 

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Not, it isn’t.”

“I do care for you.”

“I know. But…I think it’s better this way. Hey, look at the bright side, at least we’re not getting a divorce!”

“You really do deserve better than this, Tom.”

“I know.”

* * *

 

“Why do I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Give up everything, risk everything because of Sherlock Holmes?”

* * *

 

“Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Brilliant.”

“…but we can try taking it step by step, see where it takes us.”

“…okay.”


	25. Neckporn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda smut because THIS - http://sherlockundercover.tumblr.com/post/121045613910/the-unbeatable-neck-game-3

Mild-mannered Molly Hooper, that’s what most people would say about her. Some liked to call her Mousy Molly. Others would claim “Molly Hooper wouldn’t hurt a fly!” (Those people are completely unaware of how gleefully she wields a saw to cut bones).

So naturally, they would think what she’s doing right now is totally uncharacteristic of her. She has the presence of mind not to vault the table. (It’s doubtful that she would have accomplished this feat anyway, given her small stature and the precious scientific equipment in the way). But she sort of zooms around the furniture, grabs Sherlock Holmes’ face and licks his neck. And then nips it.

“Molly,” he warns, but makes no move to push her away. Instead, he loosens her ponytail, cradles her head and angles it up so he can kiss her on the mouth. She welcomes this distraction enthusiastically.

Despite their furious snogging session, they are very careful not to upset the table with the experiment on it. He turns them so her back is against the door, hoisting her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, her hips moving to find some kind of friction. He obliges by thrusting back.

It is in this very heated situation that they are found by Mycroft Holmes.

Big brother raises an eyebrow, smirks and then turns to sit on the couch - allowing them to arrange themselves in a way more suited for afternoon tea.

“I forgot about him,” Sherlock whispers to her as they straighten their clothes. She looks adorably rumpled.

“You know what that shirt and your neck do to me,” she responds accusingly, but with a twinkle in her eye.

“Later?” he asks, kissing the tip of her nose.

“You know he’ll drag tea out, on purpose, to tease you.” She’s considering her options.

“I can tell him to leave. Shove him out the window.” He smiles deviously.

She affectionately grins at him, “I love you. But he’s family.”

“You’re family,” he responds, kissing her lovingly on her lips and caressing her barely-there bump.


	26. His Favourite Goldfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes really ships it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unapologetic sappy romantic fluff.

* * *

 

Once they’d gotten engaged, Molly and Sherlock both agreed that they didn’t want to wait too long to get married. Molly had been perfectly willing to go the nearest available registrar and get the deed done, knowing Sherlock’s abhorrence for large parties. However, Sherlock had surprised her by telling her that he wouldn’t mind a small wedding ceremony with family and close friends. 

“I won’t mind a party if there is dancing,” he said, kissing her on the cheek and then placing a trail of kisses all down her body. 

Afterwards, they both agreed that the wedding really should be soon so they could go on their ‘sex holiday’.

* * *

 

They’d discussed hiring the services of a wedding planner but Molly had been very reluctant to do so. Her previous experience with one had not been the most positive. 

After the Watsons’ wedding, Tom had convinced her to meet up with a family friend who was a wedding planner. While the woman had contacts and experience galore, she’d made Molly feel like her input as the bride was unwelcome. That woman’s blatant disregard for Molly’s wishes had been the catalyst for the row with Tom that made her finally realise that there was a more fundamental problem in their relationship than flower arrangement disputes.

This time around, knowing that she was marrying the right person, she wanted to make sure that they would have the wedding that they wanted. Unfortunately, planning for their wedding did not progress beyond initial ideas.

Then Sherlock was offered a case abroad, which took him away for a month. Molly hadn’t minded, had, in fact, encouraged him to take it, hoping that she could organise as much as possible while he was away. Unfortunately, her own work kept her busy - one co-worker fell ill and another had an accident - so she was usually too tired by the end of the day to find the motivation for her wedding project.

By the time Sherlock came home, job stress and trying to get a wedding together had taken a toll on Molly and she tearfully asked Sherlock if he wouldn’t consider just going the civil registrar route. He’d consoled her, telling her if that was what she really wanted, he could call in a couple of favours and they could get married as soon as possible. 

A very large part of Molly had wanted the wedding party - as a child she’d dreamed of getting married by the seaside - but as an adult, the most important thing to her was that she was marrying the man she truly loved and who truly loved her back. And so at the end of the day, it didn’t matter to her where and how they got married.

* * *

On Thursday, Sherlock told her about a case he was considering taking, but only if she would assist him with it. 

Apparently he was to investigate a series of thefts at a luxury hotel in Sussex. They’d all happened during weddings of wealthy and influential people. The police had not been able to find any suspects, much less figure out how the thefts had actually occurred. The hotel management needed these crimes solved, afraid that they wouldn’t be able to keep them quiet any longer and have their reputation damaged.

“We’ll pose as guests for the wedding this Saturday. We’ll leave on Friday afternoon. I’m confident I’ll solve the case within the day and we can spend the rest of the weekend enjoying the very nice suite the hotel has offered as accommodation.”

She readily agreed to go with him. Of course she wasn’t going to refuse a weekend away, with a case to add further entertainment. They might be busy investigating on Friday evening and the whole day of Saturday, but she knew what Sunday could be for.

She packed carefully, making sure to include some very delicate, floaty little things, knowing that Sherlock would appreciate those. He might be a genius and the world’s only consulting detective, but when it came to lingerie he was very much the typical male.

Thankfully, Sherlock remembered to mention something really important while she was getting her things ready, “By the way, the dress code is white. You have a dress, don’t you?”

She did, indeed. One she hadn’t worn yet because there had never been an opportunity to do so. She’d bought it in the sales, about a year ago. It was a simple dress but it fit her perfectly and it made her feel pretty and confident. Sometimes she would take it out of the wardrobe to look at it, hoping that one day she would find a special occasion to wear it. It looked like it had finally arrived.

* * *

The hotel was nice, very nice. Sherlock Holmes, in the minor disguise of slicked back hair and designer glasses, fit right in with the ambience. Molly Hooper, however, felt slightly intimidated. Not that she usually cared about such things, but she was glad that she’d taken extra care with her clothes for the assignment. Thanks to a previous undercover stint with Sherlock, posing as a bored girlfriend to a drug dealer, she’d acquired a few designer items.

After they freshened up in their suite - a beautiful room with sea view - they went down to explore the reception area for tomorrow’s wedding. Apparently there was going to be drinks by the pool before the ceremony. Then guests would go back to their rooms to get dressed for the more formal dinner in the evening.

As they explored, Molly couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of the grand wedding that was to take place tomorrow. Not that she wanted something as elaborate as this, this wasn’t her style at all. But even though she was looking forward to their civil ceremony at the register office, a slightly more festive do would have been nice too.

* * *

As instructed by Sherlock, Molly kept a surreptitious lookout for anything strange during the pre-ceremony drinks party the next day. Sherlock had left her side once she’d found the perfect spot to survey the scene, clearly preoccupied with the case.

So far she hadn’t seen anything that she would consider strange and began wondering if her presence here was strictly necessary. She smiled to herself, suspecting that Sherlock had only asked her to come along because he’d been wanting to get away with her for a weekend. She would tell her wonderfully silly complicated fiancé that it was perfectly okay to just ask her if he wanted to have sex with her in a hotel.

Sherlock suddenly appeared at her side, informing her that they needed to leave. She followed him outside to the entrance of the hotel, where a beautiful classic sports car was waiting. He very graciously opened the door for her, telling her that they needed to follow up a lead in a parish about an hour away.

They drove in silence, except for the beautiful hum of the engine and the classical music Sherlock had put on. Molly was perfectly content to leave Sherlock to his own thoughts, understanding that this was his process when he was on a case. She entertained herself with watching his beautiful musician hands handle the wheel, imagining how she could make them play her, later when the case was closed. If he noticed her squirming in her seat from her thoughts, he didn’t indicate.

* * *

After a little over an hour, they stopped by what looked like an inn to Molly. 

“Sherlock, why are Mary and Meena here?” Molly asked, confused when she saw her two friends walk out of the building.

He turned to look at her. “Do you still want to get married?”

“Of course!”

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, “Then let’s get married.”

As soon as she got out of the car, Mary walked over, asking if she wanted to freshen up. She nodded and was led away by her friends to a hotel room, where her things had been transferred to. Her slightly shocked brain was slowly catching up and it was gradually dawning on her that she’d been duped.

“There is no case, is there?” she asked them.

Her friends shook their heads and smiled.

“But they’re waiting for you down by the dunes. As soon as you’re ready, we can join them,” Mary said, handing her a lovely colourful bouquet. 

Molly looked at her friends, at the flowers in her hands and then at herself in the mirror. “Shouldn’t I have a veil on or something?”

Her friends looked at each other.

Meena hesitantly said, “Sherlock gave us a hat…”

Oh, that impossible man, how she loved him so! She knew exactly what Meena meant with the hat. She’d mentioned her childhood fantasy to Sherlock before, about getting married by the seaside, how she’d always pictured herself wearing a sundress and a hat, instead of an elaborate wedding gown and veil. And now he’s making it all come true.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” both her friends rushed to her when they noticed she was getting teary.

“I can’t believe that he’s done this for me,” Molly sniffed.

Mary kissed her on the cheek, “He doesn’t fool us, does he?”

She needed to see him. Surprises were usually discouraged when it came to weddings, but this was definitely the best surprise she’d ever received in her life.

“Let me change my shoes,” she said, toeing off the slingback heels she’d been wearing and putting on her favourite flats. “Okay, let’s do this.”

She was so more than ready to marry this man.

* * *

After the ceremony, the reception, the speeches and the dancing, Molly and Sherlock were exhausted from this very eventful day. But not too exhausted to reconfirm the vows they made, in front of their family and friends this afternoon, to each other with their bodies.

In the aftermath, in the quiet, they held each other, listening to each other’s heartbeats.

“Sherlock?” she murmured into his chest.

“Hm?”

“How much do we owe Mycroft for this?”

He chuckled. “It’s the other way around.”

“I see,” she replied, touched by her new brother-in-law’s generosity. “Can you tell me why he gave me an antique goldfish pendant as a gift?”

Sherlock tightened his hold on her, “You’re his favourite goldfish.”


	27. Someone's Someone

He comes out of his mind palace to find her draped over him, asleep. 

A glance at his watch tells him that she must have come home about an hour ago. Her hair is still damp from her customary after-work shower. He embraces her, shifts a little so both are lying more comfortably on the couch. He wonders what happened today that she’d sought out his nearness. She usually leaves him to roam his mind palace on his own, never demanding attention. She’s so wonderfully considerate like that, it humbles him sometimes. 

He wants to wake her, wants to hear her voice, but she’s in such a deep sleep that he doesn’t wish to disturb her. He’ll eventually carry her to the bed. But for now, he holds her, listening to her slow breaths, quietly giving her the comfort she needs.

The cat joins them after a while, wedging himself between their bodies and the back of the couch. 

A year ago, Sherlock hadn’t thought he was built for domesticity like this. But the woman in his arms had taught him how wrong he’d been, how wonderful it can be to be someone’s someone.

And when she wakes, he’ll remind her that he is hers.


	28. Dessert is for eating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from Welovesherlolly: Sherlock tries to propose to Molly in all of these cliche ways, and just before he's about to Molly kind of "makes fun" of the way he's about to do it, and of course feels bad after.. in the end Sherlock just does it somewhere random because he realises he doesn't need all the silly big stuff to ask her...

Their waiter came, placing the chocolate mousse Molly had ordered in front of her with a flourish.

“Anything else?” he asked, grinning. Sherlock just waved him off but Molly caught the look the two exchanged.

“What was that?” she asked when they were alone again.

“What was what?” Sherlock countered, the wide-eyed innocent look on his face not fooling her at all. Something was definitely going on. She’d suspected it since last week when he’d very formally asked her whether she was free on this day because he wanted to take her out to dinner. When she found out where they were going - top posh restaurant, hard to get reservations - she’d assumed that it was for a case. He’d given her an affronted look.

“I thought it would be a nice thing for us to do. As a…couple.”

The evening had been lovely so far. She’d gotten a whole new outfit just for it and he’d been suitably appreciative back at the flat. She’d had to stop him from taking it off her, reminding him that they had reservations, that she was hungry and that a little anticipation had never hurt anybody. They’d eaten a delicious meal, had drunk excellent wine, had stimulating conversation and Molly had waited for Sherlock to drop some bombshell on her.

They weren’t the kind that went out on ‘proper’ dates at swanky restaurants. They did take-out and experiments. Dinner at the Watsons was probably the most regular couple thing they did.

“Is this a case then? Is the waiter helping you with something?” she asked, making sure to sound teasing. She wasn’t going to be upset if it turned out be exactly that. But she was going to remind Sherlock that she’d rather have him tell her upfront.

“No, this isn’t a case,” he protested, fidgeting with the cloth napkin.

“Just dinner then?”

“Yes, just dinner!” He looked far too wound up for him to be telling the truth. He was a superb liar when he wanted to be but other times it was hilariously easy to spot when he wasn’t telling the truth. And he definitely was lying.

So she decided to tease him, to say the most ridiculous thing she could think of to see how he would respond. “You’re not proposing, are you?” she giggled.

His face blanched, “Uh…”

Warming to the scenario, she pointed at the dessert in front of her, “The waiter hasn’t hidden a ring in there, has he? Do you know that people have nearly choked on engagement rings hidden in food? I always thought it a silly way to propose, I know it’s meant to be romantic but what’s wrong with…”

The look on Sherlock’s face stopped her talking. He looked even paler than before and caught out? Disappointed? A combination of the two? He might be the deductive genius between the two, but Molly, in the way that people do right after they’ve said something that they shouldn’t have, had a moment of insight.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a ring in the mousse?” He nodded jerkily. She felt like an idiot. “Can we pretend that I hadn’t said-”

“No.” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded dejected.

“We could still-”

“No. It’s ruined now.”

She didn’t know what to say, what to feel. “Do you want to go home?”

The man who nodded at her had hidden behind a mask of inscrutability. And to Molly that was a hundred times worse than anger.

* * *

 

The ride home was silent and Molly was keenly aware of the space between the two of them, physical and emotional.

Back at the flat, Sherlock immediately flopped down on the couch, entering his mind palace.

Molly went into the bedroom to take off her dress. The heavy pressure in her chest made her sit down on the bed to take deep breaths. Sherlock Holmes had meant to propose to her tonight. Had taken her out to a fancy restaurant, had arranged for a ring to be hidden in her dessert. Had he scooped the ring out of the mousse when she’d excused herself to go to the ladies’ room? He’d stood by the entrance, holding her coat when she’d come back, a cab already waiting outside. She had hurt him with her teasing and he’d retreated to the safety of his mind.

* * *

 

“Sherlock?” she whispered, kneeling down in front of the couch and gently touching him on the arm to coax him out of his mind palace. It took a while for him to respond and Molly wondered if it was because he was too deep in his thoughts or because he was ignoring her.

Finally he blinked and looked at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, still whispering.

“I thought you’d be happy,” he murmured in reply.

She rubbed his arm, “Oh Sherlock, I didn’t know. It was stupid of me.”

“You told me how Tom proposed. That he’d done it at the pub after a few drinks. I wanted to do it more elegantly. I never take you out on dates and you deserve nice things.”

She gently brushed the hair off his forehead. “It wasn’t the way he proposed that I hated. I hated it because deep down, I wanted it to be you.”

He suddenly sat up, making her lean back and nearly lose her balance. He caught her by the arms, steadied her and then hauled her up, so she was standing. Then he knelt down in front of her. “Molly Hooper, will you-”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” she shouted, trying to hug and kiss him but he took hold of her hands to keep her still.

He looked up at her, “Let me say the words. Please.”

She smiled at him encouragingly, the earlier heaviness inside her gone and replaced with a lightness that made her feel giddy.

“Molly Hooper, will you do me the great honour of making me your husband, ridiculous, absurd man that I am? I love you. I love you with a depth that my mind cannot comprehend but my heart… my heart knows it will always belong to you. Please marry me.”

“Yes. Always yes.”

She bent down to kiss him with all the love that she felt for him.

“The ring,” he said when they broke apart for some needed air. He fished it out of his pocket and presented it to her. “I know that diamonds are traditional but this belonged to my grandmother and the colour of the citrine reminded me of you, but we can get another ring if you want-”

She interrupted his babbling with another kiss. “It’s beautiful, Sherlock. It’s perfect.”

“May I?” He took her hand and slid it onto her finger. It was slightly too large on her. “We might have to get it resized.”

“I think so, yes.”

“And cleaned.” This he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

She looked at him curiously. “So you fished it out while I was in the loo?”

He kissed the ring on her finger, then her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. “The mousse was delicious,” he said against her lips.

“I never had my dessert,” she teased back.

“I think I can do something about that.” She squealed happily when he lifted her up and over his shoulder, carrying her to the bedroom.


	29. Torquay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Anon prompt: Molly's under a lot of stress at work and decides to use the upcoming holiday to go on a long weekend mini-vacation. She asks Mycroft and John to he'll her keep it from Sherlock so she can spend three days without hearing "murder."

Molly checked her mobile out of habit - she could just turn it off for the weekend - and was relieved to find no messages nor missed calls.

Maybe the interference John and Mycroft were running were the reason. Or maybe Sherlock simply didn’t care. It was hard to tell sometimes with that man. They hadn’t been on speaking terms for months after he’d shown up full of drugs in the lab. Then after the Moriarty hoax it had seemed like she couldn’t get rid of him. He was always there, demanding things, demanding her assistance, her attention.

At first she thought it was because he was worried about her - that message had come as a shock to everyone - but then she realised that he was around because John was taking time off to be with his wife and his newborn daughter. Not that she didn’t enjoy helping Sherlock. God help her, she seemed a hopeless case when it came to him. But even if she loved him, and she unfortunately did, she also needed a break. From him. From her job. From London. From everything that was her day to day life.

So she’d decided to take a mini-holiday, a three-day weekend away, to recuperate, recharge. She had come to Torquay because she wanted to be by the seaside and because she had an old school friend who worked at a nearby animal sanctuary and had invited her to visit many times.

Yes, she was going to spend the next three days relaxing and trying to make her brain forget that somewhere in London there was a consulting detective who owned her heart.

* * *

 

She just stepped out of the shower when her mobile rang. Thinking it was her friend, already here to pick her up to go to the sanctuary, she answered without looking at the display.

“I’m so sorry, Molly. I tried but you know how he is. He looks at you and he just knows.”

“John?” she asked, confused. She held the phone away from ear to look at the screen to confirm that she was really hearing his voice.

“He’s on his way,” John sighed, making Molly’s heart speed up. She heard Mary speaking in the background, asking her husband to give the phone to her.

“Molly?” her friend’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hi Mary,” she answered weakly, still preoccupied with the information that Sherlock was on his way to Torquay.

“John really did try his best but Sherlock can be very determined. You know how it is. I told him to let you have this weekend for yourself but…listen, love, I think the two of you need to sit down and talk about a few things. Now, I know Sherlock isn’t the most communicative but actions speak louder than words. And I believe his actions, they’re definitely saying something.”

Before Molly could respond to Mary there was a knock on the door. “Uhm, there’s someone at the door…uhm, I need to hang up. Bye!” She threw her mobile on the unmade bed, called out “Just a minute” to whoever was outside the door.

Who was she kidding, she knew exactly who was out there. Of course it would be him. She hastily put her clothes on, wishing she’d had time to sort her hair, hanging in wet strands. She opened the door and was not disappointed.

There stood Sherlock Holmes, suitcase in hand, glowering at her. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?” he growled at her.

That raised her hackles. She was not having his attitude at all.

She glowered right back at him. “Honestly? No. But a decent human being would have left me to enjoy my holiday in peace.”

“You could have told me.”

“And you could have just called me on the phone to tell me that.”

“You would have ignored the call.”

“Yes, I probably would have.”

“So it’s good that I’m here now.”

“No…no it isn’t.”

Before she could say anything further, her mobile ran again. This time it was her friend to tell her that she was going to be down at reception in ten minutes. Molly turned back to Sherlock when she finished the call.

“Look, I have plans for the day and I’ve been looking forward to this for a while now. So I ask you, as a friend, please don’t ruin this for me.”

He looked at her and Molly cursed him internally, for his beautiful eyes, his cupid-bow lips, the fact that she just couldn’t let go when it came to him.

“May I…come with you?” he asked, almost shyly.

Cursing herself for what she was about to say, Molly nodded. “Fine.”

* * *

 

"Otters?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t expect that.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“…it’s just their faces, their eyes, their whiskers, their tiny hands…”

“I know Sherlock, I know. It’s the same for me.”

“Molly?” He looked apprehensive.

“Yes?”

“I know that I should have left you alone.” “You should have.” She didn’t know whether she mean on this holiday or her life in general. He hunched his shoulders and to Molly he looked like a lost child.

“I thought you were angry with me.”

She sighed. “I’m not angry with you.” She was angry at herself most of the time.

“But you asked John and Mycroft to-”

She sighed again. “It was a stupid precaution. An overreaction. A part of me didn’t even think you’d care if I was gone.”

He stepped towards her, “I do care.”

She took a step back, afraid of the want inside of her, her need for this man. “Sherlock, I don’t-”

“Please, give me another chance. One more chance. Please.”

She was afraid to trust her heart because when it came to this man her heart always wanted to throw caution to the wind. “What do you want?” she asked.

He stepped towards her again, “You. Everything. Everything you want to give to me.”

She suddenly felt overwhelmed, unable to express her thoughts. “It’s not…all these years, I can’t just…I thought I would…” She took a deep breath. “I wanted this weekend to get away from it all. Can we just…can we talk about it when we get back to London?”

All these years waiting for Sherlock to tell her that he had feelings for her, and now that he’d finally said it, she wanted to wait a little longer to deal with that? What was wrong with her? She half-expected him to turn away, upset, but instead he just smiled at her.

“Of course.” Oh this complicated, infuriating, unpredictable man, how she loved him. “So what are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked.

“I was going to do the Agatha Christie Mile,” she replied.

“Excellent,” he said, taking her hand and together they walked into their future.

 


	30. Hidden Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt by Rebeltimedork: "You? Really?!?"

“You? Really?”

“What?”

“Didn’t figure you for the type.”

“What, because I’m boring old Molly Hooper?”

“…I never said you were boring.”

“I’ve always liked them, you know. Admired them on other people. They’re works of art.”

“They can be, I agree. So can I see it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Oh. I always forget how people are with their bodies. It’s just transport.”

“Trust me, Sherlock, bodies aren’t merely transport.”

“At least tell me what it is.”

“Can’t you guess?”

“I’d rather you show me.”

“No. Not going to happen.”

“But we’re friends!”

“Not that kind of friends.”

“But…what if we were?”

“Don’t make jokes, Sherlock.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Seriously, don’t.”

“What? Why? What?”

“It’s just a tattoo, there’s no need-”

“But it’s a tattoo on you. You.”

“I…don’t…know…what…that…means?”

“Let me show you.”

And he did, by taking her in his arms and snogging her silly. Finally.

* * *

 

Later, very much later, he discovered two things - that she had a cat tattooed on an intimate area and that Molly was right about bodies not being merely transport.


	31. Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt by Selenaguardi: Molly's had a bad week, she doesn't let it show but Sherlock still sees. He makes his homeless network make her day better, holding open doors, giving her flowers, placing money on the street for her to find, little things she doesn't even realise.

Molly didn’t often feel like this, but after the week she had she just wanted to go home, take a bath and then curl up in her bed. Maybe have a good cry as well.

She was just so exhausted. Exhausted from her work, exhausted from trying not to be affected by the bodies that had come in - young children were always the hardest for her to autopsy - exhausted from filling in paper work and trying not to break out in tears because she felt so sad that these kids would never get to do anything anymore. Exhausted from pasting a smile on her face and pretending that she was a professional and she could deal with stuff like this.

She thought about taking a cab instead of the underground, but of course, to do with the theme of the week, none were to be found. So she trudged towards the tube station. The cars were stuffed with people because it was rush hour. But a teenager stood up and offered her his seat. Too shocked by that gesture, she just shook her head at him but he kept insisting. So she sat down. She was afraid that she was going to break down and have a cry on the tube.

When she got off at her stop, a stranger rushed towards her, “Flowers for the lovely lady.” The woman handed her a small bouquet of daisies.

Molly began to protest, “I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Oh they’re free, dear. Have a lovely evening,” the woman said and walked off. Molly smiled, bemused by what just had happened. She walked towards her home, feeling a little less sad. She remembered that she needed a few things from the shop, so she stopped by her local. “Nice hair, miss,” a stranger said, holding the door open for her and smiling. Startled by the compliment, she stammered out a “Thank you?” She’d had it cut recently and, while she really liked her shorter style, a lot of people had mentioned that

Remembering that she needed a few things from the shop, she stopped by her local.

“Nice hair, miss,” a stranger said, holding the door open for her and smiling.

Startled by the compliment, she stammered out a “Thank you?” She’d had it cut recently and, while she really liked her shorter style, a lot of people had mentioned that it had been a shame for her to cut her long beautiful hair. Honestly, it was just hair.

“Suits you,” he said then waved and walked away. She did her shopping with a grin on her face.

“Hello Doctor Molly, how are you today?” Sid, the cashier asked her when she went to pay for her items.

“Hello Sid, I’m…a little bit better,” she said, realising that she didn’t feel as down as when she’d left Barts earlier. “How are you? How is Dani?”

“We are good, we are good. It’s always better than not being good, right?” he said.

“That’s very true, actually,” she said.

“So having a nice quiet night in?” he asked pointing at what she was buying - a ready meal, a bottle of wine, some cat foot, loo roll and chocolates. She would’ve been embarrassed had it been anyone else, but she’d known Sid since she’d moved to this part of London and he always reminded her a bit of her dad.

“Long day at work,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

He winked at her, “This is on the house.”

Flabbergasted, she waved her hand at him, “No, I’ll pay for these.”

“Doctor Molly, please, it’s nothing.”

“But…no,” she protested.

“No. No protesting. You go home and have a good evening.” He packed up her things and handed her the bag.

This time she actually burst out in tears at the kindness. “Thank you,” she sniffled.

“Be well,” Sid said to her as she walked out, sniffling and thanking him again and again.

She must have been a sight, carrying her groceries, clutching her daisies and crying on the street, so she was glad when she finally arrived at her place.

Toby, the loving cat that he was, came running to greet her, demanding and giving affection to his mistress.

“Hello, boy, hello, hello,” she said, still crying. And then she laughed at herself for crying while petting her cat.

“Molly?”

She jerked in surprise, “Bloody hell, Sherlock, I told you not to do that.”

“Sorry.”

Even though she felt slightly better after receiving those little acts of kindness, she was still not in the mood to have Sherlock use her flat as a bolthole for the night. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but-”

He interrupted her with, “I’ve fed Toby and I ordered Thai for you. It’ll be here in about forty-five minutes. Long enough for you to have a nice bath. I picked up some of those melty ball things you like.”

“Oh.”

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Can you do me a favour?”

“Uh…yes?”

“Can I…can I hug you?”

“Yes…yes.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them, burrowing her face into his chest. The small kindnesses she received today had reminded her how lovely the world could be. But Sherlock, taking care of her cat, ordering her food and getting her bath bombs, that just filled her heart with happiness.

“You better not be doing this because you want more toes,” she murmured into his chest.

“The toes are optional,” he quipped back and she laughed. And that was better than crying, wasn’t it?


	32. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from Notquitesobigkid: Teen!lock/Uni!lock camping holiday with Sherlolly (obvs), John and Mary... Any rating you wish :)

“Are you sure you don’t want to come on a hike with us?” Mary asked, putting her rucksack on her back.

“We’re sure we don’t want to come on that hike with you,” Sherlock drawled, smirking at her from the sun lounger.

Molly, sat beside him in a lawn chair, smiled at them, “Have fun, be safe.”

John smirked at Sherlock, “You too.”

Then he and Mary left the camp, to go on their walk. As soon as they were out of sight, Sherlock sprang up.

“Ready?” he asked Molly.

Her own rucksack on her back, Molly nodded enthusiastically and took the hand that he held out to her. They walked briskly across fields until they arrived at an orchard. A man waved at them.

“Sherlock Holmes?” he called out.

“Yes.”

“I’m Thomas, nice to meet you.”

Sherlock gestured at his companion, “This is Molly.”

“Hello,” she greeted him sweetly.

“I have the suits over there, then we can go look at the bees,” Thomas said.

* * *

 

Some time later, they walked back to the camp, holding hands again.

“That was fun,” Molly told him.

Sherlock looked at her bashfully, “Yeah? I know it’s not what people do for a date…” S

he shook her head empathically, “No, it was perfect. You showed me something you’re interested in, I learned something new and bees are amazing!”

He smiled, pleased. “They are. And thank you for agreeing to this.”

"Anytime, Sherlock.”

They continued walking in companionable silence, both happy to be with each other.

“Do you think Mary and John are back from their hike?” Molly asked when their camp came into sight.

Sherlock snorted, “Not likely.” Molly stopped walking, making him stop. “Good,” she said, smiling at him impishly. With

“Good,” she said, smiling at him impishly.

With keen interest in his eyes, he asked her, “Is there something you have in mind, Molly Hooper?”

She nodded slowly, still smiling at him, “I fancy a dip in the lake.”

They ran towards the lake, giggling like giddy children. But what they got up to there…well, that’s not for children’s eyes.


	33. Last night a DJ saved my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt Andydona-chan: How about an AU? Molly works at a radio station, which is for some reason the only one Sherlock listens to (especially her section), until the moment they have an interview and you don’t know who was the one fangirling most.

He can’t remember when or even how he’d started listening to her show, but now it had become a habit.

“I sat in the bath today,” her voice came through the speakers. “I thought about Pluto. The planet, not the cartoon dog. How strange it is that when I was a child, Pluto was a full fledged planet but now it’s not. And it made me think about how things change, constantly. What we thought of as true when we were younger, no longer is. I don’t know. I just sat there in the water and I thought about that tiny little rock out there in space and I felt such a spiritual connection with it.”

She laughed self-deprecatingly. “And this is why, dear listener, I have a radio show at a time when most people are sleeping. Is there anyone out there? Or am I just talking to the void?”

* * *

 

He found listening to her soothing. He liked how she could go from discussing a serious topic to rambling and revealing little bits of her life, her inner thoughts. Although she often sounded upbeat, he heard a sadness in her voice sometimes, a melancholy that echoed his own.

And as he lay on the couch, listening to her voice, it felt like he was with a friend.

At first, the voice was enough. But soon he became curious, wanted to know what she looked like. That had surprised him because he usually didn’t care about things like that. He’d gone on the station’s website to see whether they had a photo of her, but there wasn’t.

For months and months and months, he just had her voice and that one hour with her. Until one night, when he spoke to her directly.

* * *

 

“I’ve never done this before. Mostly because I don’t think anyone would be interested or awake. But I’m curious. Is anyone listening to the ramblings of this silly woman? If you are and want to talk, here’s a number…”

Without thinking about what he was doing, he dialled it and waited.

“Hello? You’re live on air…who am I speaking to?”

“Sherlock,” he blurted, momentarily stunned that he was actually talking to her.

“Sherlock? Like Sherlock Holmes, that detective bloke?” she asked, sounding delighted.

“Yes, I’m Sherlock Holmes,” he said, wincing at how stupid he sounded.

There was a swift inhalation from her, “Oh. I’m speaking to the actual Sherlock Holmes?”

“You are, yes.”

“Wow. Wow, this is unexpected. I’m a fan, a huge fan.”

“Me too,” he said. “I mean I’m a fan of yours.”

“Really? Uh wow…uh…yeah.” She giggled, “I’m sorry, I feel a bit speechless at the moment. Not a good thing when you’re doing live radio, eh?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So Sherlock, how would you feel about an impromptu interview?”

“What is it that you want to know?”

“So much, Sherlock, so many things.”

* * *

 

On the advice of Mary, he’d left his Belstaff at home and had dressed more casually than usual, a pressed shirt with jeans rather than a full suit.

“Wear the purple one,” Mary had told him. “You look good in the purple one.”

He felt foolish standing outside Angelo’s, holding a small bunch of flowers, like a cliché of a first date. But even if he felt uncomfortable, he was very much looking forward to meeting Molly in person.

He saw her walking towards her - he recognised her from the photo she’d sent him after they’d spoken a couple more times - and was struck by how much lovelier she looked in person.

“Hi,” she greeted, a huge smile on her face.

“Hello. These are for you,” he nervously stammered, thrusting the flowers at her. Yes, he was very much out of his comfort zone.

“Thank you. They’re lovely. They’re my favourite flower, actually.”

“I know, you mentioned it once.” He normally didn’t care whether people minded when he revealed the things he knew about them, but he hoped Molly didn’t find that strange. People often did.

“Have I? How clever of you to remember,” she said, looking delighted.

“Shall we go inside?” he asked.

“Let’s.”

* * *

 

She used to be just a voice on the radio, a companion on lonely nights.

But as the years went on, she became the voice to greet him good morning, the voice that whispered sweet nothings into his ear at night, the voice of reason and compassion inside his mind, the voice that sang lullabies to their children and comforted them through bad dreams.

It was her voice that constantly reminded him that he was loved. And through her, he found the voice - and more importantly, the heart - to return that love with equal measure.


	34. Powerful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexytimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to this while reading the drabble - "Powerful" by Major Lazer feat. Ellie Goulding & Tarrus Riley  
> https://youtu.be/Y7OCgi7rANc

She was drunk from his kisses, those soft lips and that wicked tongue making her weak in the knees, dizzy with want.

She was high from his fingers - teasing, coaxing - floating in the bliss of euphoric release.

She feels feminine and strong and beautiful and glorious with him between her thighs, inside her, around her, oh so wonderful, so powerful, there is magic in this, a sweetness that makes her ache with love.

She feels cherished when he holds her, afterwards, breathing heavily, slick and sweaty, safe and secure in the little universe they’ve created.


	35. Across the Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt by Potterlockianegalitarian928: Fairy Tale AU: Molly heals Prince Sherlock after he severely injures himself and can't stop thinking about her after they say good-bye

“What have you done to me?” Sherlock asked, grabbing Molly by the shoulders.

“What are you talking about?” she cried, pushing his hands away and taking a step back.

“You have done something to me, given me some kind of potion!” he snarled at her.

She looked at him, outraged, “What? I have done no such thing! I’ve merely healed your wound-”

“Do not lie to me, Molly Hooper! You have done something, you’ve used your powers-”

“I’ve used my powers to heal you, you great oaf. You were dying and I saved you and have you actually ever thanked me for that? No. You just walked off and continued to ignore me, like you always do!”

He stepped closer, pushing his face in front of her, “Ignore you? Ignore you? I haven’t been able to think of anything else but you! When I’m awake you flit into my thoughts, distracting me from everything. And when I sleep, you haunt my dreams.”

“And you think I gave you some potion?"

“Nothing else makes sense!” he shouted and she recoiled like she’d been slapped.

Her usually expressive face turned blank and with a voice that didn’t sound like her own, she said, “Of course. Well, if you honestly think that I would do something like that to you, then I’d prefer if we cease all contact in future.”

“What?”

Her voice was so cold. “Farewell, Your Highness.”

* * *

He paced the expanse of the royal courtyard, trying to get rid of this wretched feeling inside of him. His friend, John Watson, watched him with an amused look on his face.

“Don’t look so smug, John,” he said to his friend.

John chuckled. “I assure you, Your Highness, I’m not being smug.”

Sherlock glared at him for his mocking use of the title. They’d been friends so long that they’ve dispensed with such formalities, at least in private. He didn’t appreciate his friend’s facetious tone.

“I really don’t understand why you haven’t figured it out yet,” John added, shaking his head.

Sherlock stopped pacing, rounding on his friend. “What do you mean?”

“This situation with Molly.”

“There is no situation with Molly,” he seethed.

John merely raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know what happened that night?”

Scowling, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You were dead, Sherlock-”

“I wasn’t dead!” John shook his head, “You. Were. Dead. Molly brought you back.”

“I wasn’t dead!” he denied again, knowing what John was claiming was impossible.

“I’m a doctor, Sherlock, I know about these things. Molly, she has a gift, yes, but what she did that night…Mycroft told me it’s called ‘reaching across the void’. It takes powerful magic to accomplish that. Mary says the reason why Molly had been able to do it was because when she called you, you answered back.”

He remembered feeling so light as if he’d shed his body and it was only his mind now, nothing else. He remembered a dark place, a lonely place, and being afraid, and sad, so sad about something that he couldn’t name. And then he’d heard her, whispering his name, calling him, and he’d understood the sadness. It was regret. Regret that he’d run out of time to tell her, to show her his heart. But she was calling him, so sweetly, and he’d followed that voice, needed to answer it, to tell it that he was here and he was hers. Somehow he’d forgotten all about that when he’d come back.

But he hadn’t really, had he? His mind had been trying to remind him, that’s why she’d been a part of his thoughts so often. “I’m an idiot,” he swore empathically.

John grinned, “You are. But it’s not too late.”

“I was cruel, she must hate me.”

“You see but don’t observe,” John tutted, earning another glare from Sherlock.

He was about to berate his friend but remembered that he actually needed his help if he was to set things right. “What do I do?”

“Well, Your Highness, I suggest you get on your knees and beg. For starters.”

* * *

 

“Why are you here?” Molly asked him warily.

It was obvious by the way she crossed her arms and the expression on her face, she was not at all happy to see him. What was it that John had suggested? Get on his knees and beg. He did just that.

However, it seemed to alarm Molly even more. “What are you doing?”

He felt foolish, but he would feel more the fool if he didn’t at least try and tell her what his mind had been telling him all along. “I am sorry, Molly, please forgive me.”

She looked down at him for a long time, not moving a muscle. “…I’m tired, Sherlock” she sighed.

Cold dread filled him, was it too late? In desperation, he grabbed her hands, held on to them tightly. “Molly, I love you. I love you,” he exclaimed passionately.

She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes, “Don’t…don’t say things that you don’t mean.”

“But I do mean them,” he pleaded. “When I was…I was gone, I heard you call my name, heard you asking me to come back. So I did. I came back, for you. It took me a while to remember, but I remember now. You called me a selfish git-”

She shook her head, “No…”

Sherlock smiled. “You did. You called me a selfish git, but you told me you loved me anyway. I AM a selfish git, but a selfish git who loves you, too.”

“I was so afraid, so afraid to lose you forever,” she whispered.

“I was too, so I had to come back to tell you. I love you, Molly Hooper, and even death can’t change that.”

“Oh Sherlock,” she cried, touching his face gently.

He kissed her palm reverently. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

“Oh Sherlock…it’s too late,” he looked up at her in shock but she smiled, “it’s too late to tell my heart to stop loving you.”

He stood up, grabbed her and kissed her with all the devotion he felt inside.

“I love you, Molly Hooper, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he intoned when they finally broke apart. “And thank you, thank you for reaching across the void and calling me home.”

She smiled at him and his whole being felt warmed by the love that shone in her eyes.

For the rest of their lives, they would warm each other with their love. And when death came, many, many years later, and called them into its embrace, their love survived in the hearts of their daughters and sons, and their grandchildren, and everyone who knew them and had, too, been blessed with their love.


	36. Not The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from potterlockianegalitarian928: Sherlock and Molly adjust to married life after returning home from their honeymoon.

Sherlock and Molly had both assumed that getting married wouldn’t actually change anything.

After all, they’ve known each other for years and had been in a relationship for three before Sherlock had, to Molly’s surprise, very traditionally gotten down on his knee, produced a ring and asked her to marry him.

Okay, maybe it hadn’t been exactly traditional, considering she’d just been chest-deep in a body and had just very excitedly taken out the poor deceased’s pancreas and exclaimed, “Look at this!” Sherlock later told her that he’d been waiting for the ideal opportunity to propose and that moment had been an excellent example of why he loved her and why they were perfect for each other.

So they had done the deed, exchanged vows in front of family and friends, had speeches and dances and had drunk too much champagne and had gone on a two-week honeymoon.

She’d teased him about going away for so long, knowing his low threshold for idleness, but to her delight, he’d kept himself - and her - very busy.

* * *

Now they were back in London, the honeymoon, literally, being over and it had hit them.

They were married. They were husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes (except Molly had kept her name and it was actually Mr. Holmes and Dr. Hooper).

They still had their work, they still performed experiments together, they would still eagerly make love to each other after Sherlock had been away for a case, he would still visit his Mind Palace and she’d sit with him, reading a book. They would have domestics over dishes and laundry, she would nag him about eating and taking more care of his body, he would complain when she suggested having dinner outside the flat (but it was a token protest, he was really proud to show the world what a wonderful partner he had).

So yes, their life together hadn’t really changed but they felt a change.

* * *

 

 “Sherlock?” Molly asked one night, the two of them in bed. She was cuddled into his side and he was brushing his fingers through her hair. She loved when he did that and he, too, found it very relaxing and comforting.

“Hm?” came his drowsy reply, his eyes closed. Sex was a guaranteed way of making Sherlock feel sleepy and tonight they had been rather rigourous. She was still feeling tingly all over.

“Is it just me or are things…different?”

“No,” came the rather brusque reply.

She lifted her head to look at his face. “Do you mean ‘no’ as in you don’t think things are different-”

“No, as in, it’s not just you,” he interrupted, having opened his eyes to look up at her.

“Oh,” she replied. “And how do things feel different to you?” She didn’t know how to articulate the particular feeling inside of her, so she was curious to know what her husband had to say. Clearly, he was struggling with it too, for it took him a while to answer.

“A marriage contract is a piece of paper, legally binding, yes, but it’s only a piece of paper and contracts can be broken. I was already committed to you, completely, wholeheartedly, even before we wed, and I had already envisioned us spending the rest of our lives together. And yet, when we spoke our vows in front of people who matter to us, what we already had somehow became much more. I don’t know how else to explain it.” He looked at her, a furrow between his brows.

She smiled at him, happy about what he’d just said, to know he felt it too. She fondly stroked his face. “I am so grateful that you found me,” she whispered, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. He tightened his hold on her, rolled them over so she was lying underneath him.

He snogged her breathless. “No, it’s you who found me. And I will be yours, always.”


	37. Bop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by starlight-falls: Sherlock continuously buys and breaks bop-its. He tells himself he buys them simply to keep up with his hand-eye coordination, but after four minutes with the game, he truly believes the manufacturers have rigged the game, and destroys it, in the most dignified tantrum an adult male can have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I wrote this, I didn't even know what bop-its were. Ngl, I'd be like Sherlock.

“Arfgdhfjdshjdamnyoutohadesyoubloodyfuckingthing!”

The frustrated shout was followed by the crash of something hitting the floor with force. Concerned, Molly came out of the kitchen to see a toy in pieces, Toby pawing at it, and Sherlock red-faced and seething.

“What the…”

“It’s impossible!” he hissed, stomping on the broken pieces and making her cat hastily retreat under the sofa. “Sherlock. It’s a toy,” she said,

“Sherlock. It’s a toy,” she said, a bit put off by his actions.

He glared at her, “No. It’s not. This is not a toy. This is a torture device!”

She gave him a measured look, “I think you’re overreacting.”

“I am not!” he fumed. “They must have rigged it somehow. I bet Mycroft has something to do with this.”

“Okay, now you’re being ridiculous,” she scoffed. He went utterly still, and then, with a disdainful/martyred sniff, walked off to her room and slammed the door behind him.

Molly looked at Toby, peeking out from under the sofa. He meowed. “Yeah, sometimes even I don’t know why I love him.”


	38. Husband of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From knapp-shappey: Due to on going butterflies from their big day, Molly unconciously stops calling Sherlock by name and always refers to him as '(my) husband'.

“Molly?” Sherlock asked, as they slow danced on the balcony of their honeymoon suite.

“Hm?” she replied, her head resting on his chest. He would never get over how right she felt in his arms.

“What’s my name?”

This made her lift her head and look up at him. “Why are you asking?” she said, clearly bemused.

She had looked so beautiful today - not that she didn’t look beautiful to him on any other day. But today she had been the epitome of the blushing bride and he’d felt like the luckiest groom - man, person - in the world. Here, now, in the semi-darkness of the balcony, she looked like some fairy creature, too wonderful for this world. He must have done something right to have her in his life.

“You haven’t called me by it ever since we exchanged vows,” he said to her, kissing her on the nose. Her brows furrowed and he couldn’t resist placing a kiss on her forehead. She was so precious to him.

“That can’t be true,” she laughed, “What else would I call you?”

He smiled back at her, feeling the same surge of pride he’d felt every time she’d done it. “You’ve been calling me ‘husband’.”

“I..what?” she said, startled by the revelation. “I…uh…”

He kissed her cheek, “I don’t mind. I think it’s rather sweet.”

She chuckled, kissing his cheek, “And it’s not a lie, now, is it?” “

No, wife, it isn’t,” he chuckled back, and then kissed her fully on the lips.

Later that night, she did say his real name. Well, moaned, really. Not that he had any complaints.


	39. This is not a coffee shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for my own amusement because every time I see coffee shop AU headcanons on tumblr it makes me smile. Contains Johntent.

“Sherlock?” Molly exclaimed, completely surprised by the barista in front of her. There was a millisecond of panic on the man’s face before it settled back into the friendly grin he’d greeted her with.

“My name’s Barry,” he said, helpfully pointing at the name tag on his shirt. As if that would fool her.

His accent might be less posh, hair and eyes might be a different colour, there was stubble on his face, his posture less confident and more slouchy, and he had done something with his teeth that subtly changed the shape of his face. But Molly Hooper knew those lips and hands intimately. In fact, this morning they’d done very intimate delicious things to her body.

However, Molly was an intelligent woman and understood, very quickly, that whatever was going on, now wasn’t the time to ask for an explanation. So she smiled at ‘Barry’ and placed her order. She was half tempted to give a ridiculous name when he asked for it.

Sitting at a table and sipping her beverage, she watched ‘Barry’ serve customers, amused by how well he was doing. She now regretted not ordering something more complicated, just to see him react to that. He might look like the poster boy for the perfect barista to other people, but Molly saw the little tells that indicated his impatience with customers' foibles. Sherlock Holmes has never been, and never will be a people person, no matter how hard he tried to pretend.

* * *

 

He’d left her flat this morning, informing her that he’d be busy with a case, so he probably wouldn’t get in touch with her until later that night. He’d become so much better at letting her know when he was working, so she wouldn’t worry if he went incommunicado for a while. They’d kissed and she’d told him to take care. An hour later, Mary had called her asking if she had plans and, if not, would she like to spend the afternoon with her and baby Hannah.

So here she was, waiting at the coffee shop for Mary and Hannah and apparently, by sheer coincidence had walked in on Sherlock on a case. Except, what was that thing Sherlock often said about the universe’s apparent laziness? At that moment, the Watsons walked in - John included - and Molly waved at them.

It was funny that Mary had asked to meet at this coffee shop and Molly had no doubt that her friend knew something. She only wished that Sherlock had included her in the plan.

“Hello, luv!” Mary greeted her, and the two women kissed each other on the cheek. Hannah excitedly waved at her from the pushchair. Molly bent down to give the toddler a tickle and a kiss, which was received with giggling and a slobbery kiss in return.

“Hello, Molls,” John said, giving her a friendly hug. “Sherlock too busy with an experiment or visiting his mind palace to join us?” Momentarily confused by his statement, she was about to say something but Mary interjected.

“Will you go order for us?” she asked her husband, shooting Molly a meaningful look.

“Sure. The usual?” he replied, to which Mary nodded. “Anything for you, Molly?”

She shook her head, holding up her still half-full drink, “Ta but I’m good.”

When John walked off to the counter, Molly turned to Mary. “What is going on?”

It was obvious to her that John had no idea that Sherlock was playing barista at the moment but Mary was fully aware of this. She wondered how she figured into this, whatever this was.

“It’s a wager.”

Molly’s eyebrows rose, “A wager?”

Mary shook her head, looking exasperated, “My darling husband and his nibs made a bet.”

It didn’t take Molly long to work it out. “He thinks that John wouldn’t recognise him?” Mary rolled her eyes and nodded. “Seriously? I noticed the second we came face to face!”

Mary proudly smiled at her. “I told him you would.”

They both watched as John ordered his drinks, apparently oblivious to the fact that the barista was actually his friend. Molly noticed the smug smile Sherlock tried to hide and was honestly baffled that John hadn’t noticed. He came back to the table, drinks in hand, and sat down. She watched Sherlock watching his friend with a look of glee on his face. She looked at Mary, hoping to get a clue at what to do next. It looked like Mary was about to say something when John spoke.

“Is he staring? Is he making that face, you know the one, when he thinks he’s the cleverest person in the room?” Both women glanced at Sherlock, to see him doing exactly that. He noticed them looking and quickly turned away.

John looked at both of them, “Does he really think that I’m that much of an idiot? It’s not even that good of a disguise.”

Molly chuckled, “I noticed right away.”

“You won,” Mary said, lovingly squeezing his arm.

He sighed. “I don’t think I’ll tell him, though.”

“Why’s that?” his wife asked.

Molly grinned, “He’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t think his sulking is worth it,” John added.

Mary shook her head, “You two are saints.” She looked back at the counter, where Sherlock was still serving people. “How long do you think he will keep it up?”

Molly studied her boyfriend, noticed how ‘Barry’ was slowly morphing into Sherlock. “Five minutes?”

It was less than five when Sherlock came over and triumphantly crowed at John, “You see but don’t observe!”

John gave his friend a long-suffering look, “You won.”

* * *

 

Later that night, Molly and Sherlock were lying on the couch, his dressing gown draped over their naked bodies.

“He knew, didn’t he?” Sherlock suddenly asked. For a second, Molly thought of denying it, but then nodded her head.

“You knew he knew.”

“Yes."

“Why didn’t you tell him?” she asked, curious about his actions. Sherlock was a sore loser, true, but he generally was a fair player.

“I thought it would be kinder that way.”

She smiled at him lovingly, “You are a good man, Sherlock Holmes.”


	40. The Marathon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexytimes all over 221B

“Okay, can we…can we maybe take a break?” Molly said, still breathing heavily after having ridden Sherlock with an energy and urgency she didn’t think she’d still have after nearly a whole day of torrid sex. Collapsed on top of him, she felt boneless and sated.

Yes, she, Molly Hooper, had just spent her Sunday shagging Sherlock Holmes in various places and positions all over his flat. Thank god Mrs. Hudson was away visiting a friend, otherwise, the dear landlady might have had an earful of what they’d been up to. It turned out that Sherlock was a bit of a groaner and shouter when it came to his completion. Not that Molly was put off by this, but she’d rather not have Mrs. H know what they’ve been up to. Thinking about the various ways they’d made love since this morning even made herself blush.

“Fine,” Sherlock pouted, hugging her close and nuzzling that sensitive spot behind her ear.

“I also require some food,” she said, placing a gentle kiss on his neck. She inhaled the musky mixture of sweat and sex and Sherlock and would have been content to lie there like that if it weren’t for the fact that she really was hungry.

He groaned in protest, but then his stomach growled. “Food it is, then,” he said, while Molly giggled.

They used the thirty minutes before their takeaway arrived to shower quickly - “Be glad that I’m starving, too, Molly, otherwise I’d be feasting on you right now,” Sherlock growled at her as he soaped her backside - and to straighten the kitchen - “This is a Wedgwood cup!” Molly exclaimed in dismay, holding up the broken pieces.

They ate their food, occasionally finger-feeding each other morsels. It would all have been sickeningly sweet, even for inveterate romantic Molly, but pleasantly flushed with the afterglow of bloody brilliant sex, neither of them cared. And ended up making slow, sweet love on the couch. Again. It was a bit of a favourite spot for both of them.

Cuddling after, with Sherlock spooning her, a leg draped over her hips, Molly took a glance at the clock to see that it was nearly eight.

“I should head home,” she said. “I have an early shift tomorrow.”

His hold on her tightened and he very grumpily said, “Move in with me. Mrs. Hudson won’t mind Toby.” This wasn’t the first time he’d asked, although the other times he’d sounded less surly. 

“Why do I have to move? You could move in with me,” she retorted, just as grumbly. That would shut him up. 

“That also works. I can keep Baker Street as an office. Probably best if we’re going to procreate, I think.” 

That roused her from her very comfortable position on the couch. She looked down at her boyfriend, naked and gorgeous, who looked up at her with surprise.  “I beg your pardon?” she exclaimed. 

“I told you when we started this that it’s a long-term commitment. I assumed that included children, perhaps a house if we need the space, and a cottage, somewhere nice, when we both retire.” 

“A cottage.” “And bees. Neither of us is  allergic.” 

“Bees.” 

“Yes. But that comes much later.” 

“I see.” 

“So what do you say?” 

“To what?” 

“All of it.” 

“I say yes.” 

“Excellent.” 

They sealed that with a kiss. And more sex.

* * *

 

 John looked at his friend, still astonished by his news that he was moving in with Molly. “This is serious, then?” 

Sherlock, raising his eyebrow in that superior way he did, replied, “I told you, this is a marathon, not a sprint.”


	41. Breadsticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because of that meme.

“How did the date go?” Sherlock asked as she sat down on her couch with a dejected huff.

Of course the man had to be at her flat after the flop of a date she just had!

“I couldn’t stop talking about Mrs. Morris’ gallbladder and he kept fiddling with the breadsticks,” she said, disappointed with how her evening had gone.

“Breadsticks?” he asked, as if they were an entirely foreign concept to him.

“I like breadsticks,” she added forlornly.

“I know.” He nodded empathically.

She sniffed, “Maybe next time I’ll just shove them in my purse and leave.”

He inclined his head, “That is an option.”

She yawned, suddenly feeling very tired. “Or maybe I’ll just give dating a break. At least for a while. It’s exhausting.”

He nodded again. “Also an option…or maybe…”

“Maybe what?” she turned her head to look at him. He stared straight ahead, at some spot on her wall.

“Maybe you should stop dating other people.”

Frowning, she said, “Isn’t that what I just said?”

He shook his head once. “No.”

“I think it is.”

“No, it isn’t. You want to give dating, in general, a break. What I suggested was for you to stop dating other people.”

She huffed. “Okay. And who should I date? You?”

Slowly he turned to look at her. “I’d let you have all the breadsticks. And listen while you talk about Mrs. Morris’ gallbladder.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Molly?” he asked, his tone unsure. She’d never heard him so unsure before.

“Yeah?” she croaked.

“Do you want…would you…uh will you…” he stuttered.

She smiled at him, “Will there be breadsticks?”

He smiled back at her and nodded.

* * *

 

John looked at his wife, “He gave her a bouquet of breadsticks. Who gives breadsticks as an anniversary gift?”

Mary laughed, “It makes sense.”

“It does?”

Mary kissed him lovingly, “For them it does.”


	42. Swaddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an Anon prompt: Sherlolly headcanon: Molly's nesting period before the birth was nothing compared to Sherlock's. He had, clothes, baby products, and nappies stacked and ready to use and frequently timed how quickly he could change a nappie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a cat swaddling video on youtube.

Mary eyed the very organised changing table. “Looks like you’re all set for the big day.”

Rubbing her very huge belly, Molly laughed, “I’m ready. I’m not sure if Sherlock is, though.”

“Still not enough data on the spreadsheet?” Mary chuckled.

Molly rolled her eyes, “He went through two whole packs of nappies! And he’s been practicing swaddling on Toby!”

“Please tell me there is video of this?” Mary said, eyes round with excitement. Molly snorted, then giggled and went to get her mobile.

The two women watched the clip of Sherlock speaking to Toby as he bundled the cat in a cellular blanket.

“Your cat is incredibly tolerant,” Mary commented, astounded at how relaxed Toby was with Sherlock manhandling him that way.

“He’s a big goof,” Molly said fondly.

“Toby or Sherlock?”

Both women snickered.


	43. Forkerine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a while ago I made a serious-not-so-serious post on tumblr about the mystery of the plastic fork - the one Molly used to stab Tom with at the Watson wedding. Then I wrote a cracky stupid thing.

“If I wasn’t everything you think I am, would you still help me?” Molly looks at him, scared and apprehensive, unshed tears in her brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, wanting to reach out, to reassure her that just as she had always been his friend, he was there for her, too.

She takes a shuddering breath, “If they find out…I’ve been hiding this for so long but if they find out…”

He steps towards her, careful not to crowd her but needing to lessen the distance between them. “Find out what, Molly?”

She takes a deep breath this time, steeling herself for whatever she’s about to reveal. Sherlock feels a prickle at the back of his neck, it’s the same feeling he gets whenever he finds another piece of a difficult puzzle to advance the game. Whatever she’s about to say to him, it will change their lives forever.

She holds out her hands and he looks at them, her strong and skilful fingers, and something happens that tilts the axis of his world and throws everything he’s ever known out into space. As if by magic, two plastic forks emerge from the centre of her palms. He stares at them, trying to make sense, to come up with an explanation, but he can’t, so he looks at Molly for one.

“I’ve had this gift since I was a child,” she says, her expression still uncertain at how he is taking her revelation.

He cradles her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs lightly over the plastic flatware. And then he lifts first the right and then the left hand to his mouth, bestowing a soft kiss to both of them.

“They’re beautiful, Molly,” he says and the dread on her face and the tension in her body dissolves. “You are beautiful, Molly Hooper.” The smile she gives him makes him feel like the most blessed being on the planet.


	44. In a cottage somewhere in England…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retired Sherlolly, a little piece of domestic fluff.

Molly looked up from the paper she was reading, to see Sherlock walking through the kitchen door. Greying curls dishevelled and cheeks ruddy from the cold - daft man hadn’t bothered putting on a coat over his morning robe - he stamped his feet and rubbed his arms to warm himself.

“Everything okay with the bees, dear?” Molly asked, smiling at him.

“Yes, yes, everything as it should be,” he replied, walking over to the breakfast table and taking a seat. He took a sip from her cup, allowing the hot liquid to warm him even further.

“Get your own tea,” she admonished fondly and playfully swatted his hand as he stole a piece of jam covered toast from her plate. Munching on it happily, he simply waggled his eyebrows at her.

“You know, if I were the jealous type, I would say you care more for those bees than you do for me,” she commented, standing up to get another cup and to make more toast.

“But you are the queen bee of my heart,” he protested, giving her a charming wink. All these years, she thought, and she was still as susceptible as on the first day.

“Does that make you my drone?” she asked, pouring him a cup of tea. “Not very ideal, don’t you think? With the whole dying after mating thing.”

Sherlock chuckled and stood up to give her a cuddle, “But I do die a little death each time…”

Molly groaned, shaking her head at him, but laughed when he pouted at her. “You are lucky that I love you,” she teased, giving him an affectionate kiss on the lips.

He kissed the tip of her nose, “I am. Very lucky indeed.”


	45. In a cottage garden somewhere in England…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About to retire Sherlolly. Related to the previous chapter.

“We should do this more often,” Sherlock said, still breathing heavily from the exertion of a few seconds ago.

“Mmmm,” Molly replied, cuddling close to him, kissing his sternum.

“What? You enjoyed that. I felt you enjoy that,” he argued.

Molly didn’t have to look at his face to see the smirk on his lips. Shuffling away and arranging her clothes so she looked more decent again, she admitted “It was nice-”

“Nice?” he exclaimed, clearly displeased by the description.

“It was lovely-”

“I think it was more than just nice or lovely!”

She giggled, “It was amazing, stupendous, fantastic, mind-blowing!”

He sat up to arrange his own disarrayed clothing, striving for a look of dignified hurt on his face. “Now you’re just mocking me.”

She grabbed him by the shirt front and pressed a passionate kiss to his lips, “Never, my darling. I would never mock you on this.”

“You _are_ mocking me,” he murmured against her lips but deferred from arguing further, returning her kiss just as passionately. Soon they shifted so he was on his back - again - and she on top.

They caressed each other, marvelling, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, at how they still found such joy in each others' bodies. The hunger could be just as raw and urgent at times, despite the creaks and aches in their joints.

* * *

 

A little while later, they once more lay panting, sated and safe in each others' arms.

“Twice in one afternoon…retirement suits you, Mr. Holmes,” Molly teased, her body still tingling from his attentions.

“Must be the fresh air,” he said, “I find it rather invigorating.”

“The fresh air, is it?” she commented drily, a smile hovering on her lips.

He looked at her, quite earnestly, “And the birds and the bees.”

She snorted at that and they both laughed.

This new chapter in their lives would certainly be filled with challenges and adjustments, but as long as they had each other, quiet country life would suit them just fine.

And if things were to become just a little too sedate for them, they did have a very large garden to explore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very fond of older/retired Sherlolly still being very, very 'affectionate' with each other


	46. Rock it ‘til water falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this when the whole 'John erasure debate' started. SMUT. Because of reasons. Also, Johntent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by the Beyonce song of the same name.

Sherlock sat in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin, and to anyone else he looked to be indifferent to her presence

However, Molly knew that he was anything but, seeing how his eyes tracked her as she walked from the door, which she’d locked, to stand before him. For a moment, neither spoke nor made any movement towards each other. She smiled down at him, happy to be here, and he looked back with hunger in his eyes.

His hands reached for her hips, sliding under the soft wool of her jumper, his fingers making contact with the bare skin underneath. They trailed upwards, tickling her sides, making her giggle. When they reached her bra, he raised hopeful eyes at her. “May I see? Please?”

How could she refuse him when he asked so prettily? She shimmied out of her skirt and Sherlock’s hands came down to squeeze her buttocks playfully. Then she slowly raised the hem of her jumper, loving the way he watched her undress.

“Lovely,” he murmured when she was stood in front of him in only her bra and knickers. He leaned forward to kiss her belly, the underside of her breasts.

“Your turn,” she said, running a hand through his curls.

She yelped when he suddenly stood up, walking her backwards until her legs bumped the edge of the empty chair behind her.

“Sit,” he purred in her ears and she eagerly obeyed. How she loved having him stripping for her, those elegant fingers flicking open buttons, his graceful movements as he shrugged out of his shirt, the way he stared at her as he unzipped his trousers, that smirk when he stepped out of them, the evidence of his excitement peeking through his silk boxer shorts. She palmed him, making him groan.

“Off,” she commanded and it was his turn to obey eagerly. Her mouth watered at the sight of him, at the memory of his taste. She was just about to show him how much she’d missed him, when he dropped down, kneeling between her legs. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, ardently, greedily, until they both were out of breath.

“It was only a six,” he said, “I’ve been thinking of this all the way back home.”

“I’ve been thinking of you too,” she said, kissing his eyebrow, his temple, nipping his earlobe.

“You always smell so delicious,” he said as he kissed behind her ear, down her neck, along her clavicle. He nuzzled in the vee of her cleavage. “This is new.”

“Do you like it?” she gasped when he popped her breasts out of the bra and lightly pinched her nipples. “Hmm,” was all the reply she got as he continued kissing down her body, dipping his tongue into her belly button, making her tummy jump.

“Tease,” she scolded affectionately.

“Temptress,” he shot back and softly blew on the damp patch on her barely-there knickers. It was pleasure and torment and she needed more.

Taking pity on her, he quickly rolled down her underwear, then ran a finger down her wet slit. Molly shifted on the chair, spreading her legs to give him more access. She hissed out a pleased “Yes” when his tongue made contact with her centre.

Sherlock Holmes was a very skilled man and she was a very lucky girl. It didn’t take long to work her into a frenzy and soon she was shouting her release, her whole body trembling with her climax. Yet he didn’t ease his grip on her, working her until she had to push him away, too sensitive for even the gentlest of caresses.

He grinned at her, smug at his success, so she grabbed his straining member, giving it a squeeze. She was gratified to hear him grunt at her manhandling. She could make him do much more, she knew, and drew forward to touch her tongue to his tip. He shuddered, and she continued with her tender assault, alternating between delicately licking then blowing on his prick. Then she opened her mouth and swallowed his cock, keeping eye contact with him, wanting to see his beautiful face.

“Mol…ly…pl…ease…stop,” he grunted, grabbing her head, although careful not to hurt her.

“But I was just getting started,” she mock-pouted, feeling powerful, knowing that she could reduce this man to a stuttering mess.

“I want to finish with you,” he said, pulling her closer so he was aligned with her entrance. She was hungry to be joined with him again, guiding him in, sighing as he filled her. When he was fully seated inside her, he kissed her, almost shyly.

“You feel so good,” Molly said, crossing her ankles behind his back so she could get more leverage and friction. He withdrew, then thrust back in.

“So do you,” he replied, one hand on her bottom, the other playing with her breast. He bent down to suckle at the other. Their hips moved together, grinding, skin slick with sweat. They rocked and rocked until Sherlock felt himself close to the precipice.

“Can’t…hold…Molly…touch…” he panted and she slid her hand down between them, to coax her own body into completion.

With a few frantic thrusts, Sherlock came with a strangled shout, Molly following him.

They held each other through the waves of their bliss, exchanging lazy kisses, smiling as they drew apart.

“Dinner?” he asked.

She looked at the mess of their clothes on the floor, “Shower first, then food.”

Her laughter filled the flat as he carried her to the bathroom.

* * *

 

In a Tesco, John is walking down the cereal aisle, contemplating changing his car insurance and rubbing his upper lip, missing his moustache.


	47. Have a little faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an Anon prompt: Sherlock asking for dating advice from people he knows and reading books on it. (Though not necessarily in that order.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff.

“Why are you asking me, Sherlock? You know it’s been a while,” Mrs. Hudson said as she gathered the dishes from breakfast. Honestly, she was his landlady, not his housekeeper!

He raised an eyebrow at her words. “I am rather sure that you have very recent experience. And judging by the frequency you and Mr. Christopoulou see each other, it must be serious. He is neither a crook nor a bigamist, his financial matters are in order and he assured me that his intentions towards you are most honourable. Why he thought it necessary to mention that, I don’t know-”

“Oh, Sherlock! Vasilis is a good man, isn’t he?” Mrs. Hudson dreamily exclaimed. “I should…I should…” and with those cryptic words she disappeared downstairs, leaving Sherlock to deal with the washing up.

Lucky for her, he remembered that she was indeed his landlady and not his housekeeper.

* * *

 

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask,” Greg said. “Recently divorced-”

“And still seeing your ex-wife,” Sherlock interjected.

Greg shrugged defensively, “We have kids, we’re bound to-”

“Have sex? Wine and nostalgia were never a good combination.”

“How could you possibly deduce that?” Greg said, scowling at his friend.

Sherlock grinned most smugly, “I guessed.”

“You never guess.”

* * *

 

“Whatever advice you’re about to give, it is unsolicited and most unwanted,” Sherlock warned his brother, removing the butterfly from the stomach without setting off the buzzer.

Mycroft smirked, having hoped to distract him from the task. “Then the only thing I will say is good luck with Miss Hooper.”

“You don’t believe in luck,” Sherlock reminded him, placing the butterfly next to the heart he’d gotten earlier.

“But you will most certainly need it,” Mycroft replied, deciding not to mention how lucky he thought his brother was to have found someone like Molly Hooper.

* * *

 

“I swear, Sherlock, if this is for another case, I will have no part of it!” John said, keeping his voice low to make sure not to startle his dozing daughter in his arms.

“Shush, John, put Hannah in her crib before she wakes again,” said Mary, shooing him away. With a last glare at Sherlock, John left to settle the baby in her room.

Mary turned to Sherlock and pinned him with her glare, “This is about Molly, isn’t it?”

With John gone, it suddenly seemed much easier to talk about it. “I’ve been trying to let her know that I want to start a…thing…with her-”

“A thing?”

“Yes, a thing. But I’m either being too subtle or she’s ignoring all the attempts I’m making because she’s over it…over me.”

“Sherlock, a lot has happened in the last year and a thing doesn’t just-”

“But you and John slept together on the first date!”

“Ye-es, but sex does not a relationship make. He and I had instant chemistry, sure, but getting to here - being married, having a child - that took work and time. And if you’re not in it for the long haul, then maybe you should just let it be with Molly.”

“This is it for me,” he confessed and by the bright smile on Mary’s face, he knew that he had said the right thing.

At least he had Mary in his corner.

* * *

 

“I knew the moment I met her, she was the one,” his father said, looking fondly at his mother.

“And all that time I thought I was being obvious that I loved him back just as much,” she said, shaking her head at the memory. “He thought I only considered him a friend! Can you believe that?”

“You did tell Charles that I was your very best friend!” his father argued.

His mother huffed, “That’s because you were and still are! Surely the person you’re contemplating spending the rest of your life with should be your best friend!”

“She has you there, Papa,” Sherlock commented, watching his parents. It hadn’t been all sunshine and roses for the two, but their love had seen them through.

He may be afraid of taking the next step - and still a bit unsure on how to take it - but he had faith in his feelings for Molly. And more importantly, he had faith in Molly Hooper. Always.

* * *

 

“What is this, Sherlock?”

“It is whatever you want it to be.”

“What do _you_ want it to be?”

“Us.”

“Oh.”

“Meow.”


	48. The Abandoned Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by TAB, a reimagining of the Hooper & Holmes antagonism.

“Holmes,” Molly greeted the consulting detective, the scowl she often wore around him on her face.

“Hooper,” Sherlock replied, his face the usual inscrutable mask. Although if one were particularly observant, one would detect the slight tightening around his eyes.

“Missed something earlier?”she prompted, knowing that these days he never came down to the morgue alone unless absolutely necessary.

Meeting her challenging stare with a softer one of his own, he said, “No. I’ve come looking for a different bride.”

Her lips curled but she fought against the instinct to respond to his provocation. It would not do for her to lose her temper. It had never amounted to anything before. She willed the ire that had risen away, breathing deeply through her nose. And kept whatever words she wished to hurl at him to herself.

Her silent staring had the desired effect of discomfiting him. “Mary is upset with John,” he stated baldly.

Only very few people could make Sherlock Holmes fidget and she was ready to believe that she’d acquired the knack.

“I can imagine,” she snorted. She’d never met the woman but thought Mary Watson must be the saint that she couldn’t be.

A smile ghosted along his lips and she found herself wishing that it would bloom into a full one. He seemed such a different man when he smiled. There had been a time when she’d thought herself a different woman, too.

“She will forgive him, of course,” he confidently declared.

“Of course?” she huffed. He had an infuriating way of making everything sound so simple. So definite. Arguing with him had always left her feeling inadequate.

A decisive nod, “Of course.”

“Doctor Watson is a most fortunate man, then.” If she saw the same failings in the Watsons marriage as there had been in her own, she would not mention them. She certainly would not do it here at the morgue.

But it seemed her husband had other thoughts. “And I, Molly? Am I not as fortunate?”

She often pondered these days if one could truly forgive if one could not forget. For she had been hurt often enough to have finally learned the lesson not to forget how nothing had ever truly changed.

“I must ask you to leave now as I have a rather busy day. Don’t you have a mystery to solve, Mister Holmes?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by her dismissal. For a moment she saw the man her younger self had married with such hope in her heart. She railed at the past and mourned their future. But there was no going back and she no longer saw them going forward together, either. Just as her scowl reappeared, so did his veneer of indifference.

“Good day, Mister Holmes.”

“Good day, **_Mister_** Hooper.”


	49. Come live in my heart and pay no rent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by all-oftimenspace - Sherlock trying to ask Molly out, but, fails everytime. Mainly because she thought he was joking and someone kept walking in on them when he tries to explain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF. And possible OOC.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock turned to Molly, who was busy calibrating the centrifuge.

“Molly?”

She glanced at him, “Hm?”

“Do you know what my shirt is made of?”

Obviously puzzled by his question, she stuttered a reply, “How-how is that…uhm… cotton?”

He smirked, hoping his answer would make Molly smile. He liked it when she smiled. “No, it’s boyfriend-”

“One cream tea, one coffee - black, no sugar,” John announced, walking through the lab doors, effectively interrupting him.

Molly smiled, “Thank you, John!”, taking her cup of tea from him.

“You’re welcome. I brought you a scone, too,” he held up a paper bag, “His nibs is likely to keep you here for a while.”

Sherlock scowled at his friend, how dare he-

“That’s thoughtful of you but Sherlock brought me crisps,” she said, grabbing the unopened packet from her lab coat pocket. “He promised to get me more if…” she gestured at the evidence before them.

Sherlock sniffed and gave John an arch look, “I was going to take her out to dinner afterwards."

“Were you?” both John and Molly exclaimed in surprise.

“Of course!” he said, trying to not look too offended at her surprise. Hadn’t he proven to her that he was a changed man - at least when it came to her?

“Oh,” she said, blinking, “I thought you were still on the case, that’s why you needed help with-”

“Yes, yes, I am but it’s only a five and I think I’ll have it solved within an hour.”

“Was it the boyfriend?” Molly asked.

“What boyfriend?” John looked at Sherlock. “Was there a boyfriend? I thought she was a-”

“Sherlock said something about shirt material and a boyfriend earlier and I thought that jogged something in his brain…”

Sherlock made sure to ignore John’s knowing smirk. Damn his friend for his bad timing!

“Molly, centrifuge,” Sherlock said, rather too gruffly by the way Molly glared at him.

A bit not good, he knew, and surely upsetting her would not help with him achieving his goal. Again, damn John for interrupting like that!

* * *

 

She was sitting on his couch, studying a crime scene photo. “So he tried to make it look like an accidental drowning and didn’t know bruising would show up post mortem.”

He smiled at her. There weren’t many people who would calmly - and rather curiously - examine crime scene photos while eating takeaway. And that gave him an idea.

“I’m not a photographer, but I can picture me and you toge-”

“Hoohoo! Hello, dear. Oh Molly, hello to you too!” Mrs. Hudson greeted them cheerily. The landlady-not-housekeeper handed Sherlock his dry cleaning.

“How are you?” Molly asked the older lady, “I stopped by your flat earlier but you were out.”

He bit back a curse, knowing it wouldn’t help his case in wooing Molly if he insulted the older lady. He silently took his cleaned, pressed clothes and stalked off to his bedroom before he let a bad word slip.

As he put away them away, he heard Mrs. Hudson say, “Poor fella, doesn’t look very pretty, does it?”

“I always find they look more gruesome in photos than in real life,” Molly commented. That and imagining Mrs. Hudson’s reaction to the statement made him grin.

“You are a pair, aren’t you?” his landlady proclaimed.

They would be, Sherlock thought, if old ladies and the world didn’t conspire to interrupt him every time he tried to let Molly know of his intentions!

* * *

 

Three weeks on a very puzzling case had drained him. And on top of being exhausted from the investigation, he had caught a cold. Nose stuffy, throat sore and limbs aching, he knew he needed to rest and recuperate. So naturally, going to Molly’s place was the answer.

He had slept a few hours by the time she came home and while that had taken the edge off his sleep-deprivation, he still felt very rotten due to his illness.

“Hullo,” he croaked at her, bundled up in her duvet. She placed her hand on his forehead, probably checking if he had a temperature. Her cool palm felt wonderful on his skin and he gave a little sigh.

She sighed right back, “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

“Hmmm,” he nearly purred, enjoying the way her fingers stroked his hair. “My doctor says I’m lacking vitamin you.”

Just then, Toby sauntered into the bedroom, meowing loudly, seeking affection from the humans. Molly obliged her pet and the cat shivered in pleasure at the head scratching it was receiving from its mistress. Sherlock would’ve been completely jealous had he not grown fond of the affectionate little beast.

“What you need are soup and more rest,” she said when Toby turned from her to nuzzle Sherlock instead. “Shall I take him with me?” she asked. He shook his head, allowing Toby to snuggle closer.

Once Molly left the bedroom, Sherlock whispered to the cat, “I think you’d really like Baker Street.”

“Mreoww,” the feline replied and closed its eyes for a nap.

* * *

 

_**Several weeks earlier, at the Watsons’ barbecue party** _

He hadn’t been invited but had come because he was bored. John had grumbled but he’d promised to be on the best behaviour he could muster. If the urge to deduce someone out loud become too much, he would simply distract himself by playing with his goddaughter. It was a very good plan, he thought.

Except Hannah was currently taking a nap, so Sherlock awkwardly stood near Mary and John, who were conversing with the couple from the house down the street. They seemed pretty vanilla, two kids, a rabbit, she may have an online gambling addiction, and he was really into keeping his lawn neat.

“So how did you and John meet?” asked…Caroline? Carol? Karen? Or maybe Susan?

Mary chuckled, leaning into John, giving him a fond squeeze, “He chatted me up at a bar.”

Two things occurred to Sherlock right then, one - that despite knowing many interesting things about his friends, he didn’t know the details of the Watsons’ first meeting, and two - he was actually interested to know. Research.

John groaned, looking embarrassed. “I used the most godawful chat up line.”

Peter? Philip? Or Greg maybe? laughed at that, “Can’t be worse than what I said to Lauren the first time I saw her!”

“Mine was pretty bad, mate,” challenged John. “I see this very fit blonde sitting alone at the bar, nice dress, killer heels, drinking a glass of champagne-”

“I’d been stood up by a friend,” Mary interjected.

John continued, “I see her and think maybe she’d like to have some company. I go up to her, she turns to me, beautiful smile and I’m already half in love and I say ‘You know, you might be asked to leave soon. You’re making the other women look really bad.’”

They all cringe and laugh at that, except for Sherlock who kept making a face at his friend.

Mary shook her head, still laughing at the memory. “It was bad but it was also really charming because it was so bad?”

“You ended up marrying this man!” Sherlock accused her.

“I’ve always liked a bloke that made me laugh,” she retorted, then gave her husband a peck on the cheek.

Lauren! pointed at her husband, “I think Steve’s was worse. His chat up line was ‘I was feeling a little off today, but you definitely turned me on’.”

“Ten years and you still remember that,” Steve said to his wife, winking at her.

Sherlock looked at the two couples, his mind working over a puzzle that had been bothering him for months now. Later, when the guests had all left and he’d helped the Watsons with the clean-up (the mindless activity helped _him_ ponder some things), he turned to his friends to get some answers.

“You,” he pointed at Mary, “are a highly intelligent, highly skilled woman and you fell for that drivel that John had said to you.”

“I also thought his face was cute and he had a nice bum,” Mary drawled.

“When did you notice my bum?” was John’s mystified question. She gave him a saucy look.

Sherlock cleared his throat, trying to get them back to his inquiry. “Fine, you thought he was attractive. He’s not ugly looking, I give you that.”

“Oi,” John shouted, jokingly cuffing him.

He rolled his eyes. “But you said you were charmed by this chat up line. Why?”

His completely baffled expression had Mary patting his knee in sympathy. “Because I knew he wasn’t seriously thinking his line was any good?”

"But…but,” he sputtered.

“Sometimes you just laugh at daft things and, I don’t know, people who are willing to say daft things to make you laugh are nice? I can’t explain it any other way.” She narrowed her eyes, “But I get the feeling this isn’t really about how John and I met…”

Sherlock looked at her, alarmed. He hadn’t been obvious, had he? She was perceptive but surely he’d been discreet?

“Oh my god,” John laughed and turned to his wife. “Do you think this is about Molly?”

Mary shot him an ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ look They were quiet for a while, waiting for their friend to either ignore them and leave or insult their intelligence. Miraculously, a third thing happened.

“She told me that Tom made her laugh. Even ‘Jim’ did. And she’s always making awful jokes, she really wouldn’t have a future as a comedian,” Sherlock said in a rush. “But…I like them. They’re really quite clever in how bad they are.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” Mary sighed, giving him a soppy grin.

“What do I do?” he asked his friends.

“There’s only one way, mate,” John advised, “You ask her out. On a proper date.”

“But how?” he huffed.

* * *

 

With full health restored thanks to Molly’s care and patience, he was back at his own flat and organising his mind palace. It had become a bit crowded lately, with all the silly chat up lines floating around. And so far all of them a bust with Molly.

He was wrangling a particularly cheesy one he knew he could never use without sounding like an absolute fool when the outside world intruded. He blinked and saw Molly standing in front of him, holding up a cooler. There was an impish twinkle in her eyes.

“Delivery! That’ll be twenty-three ninety-five, please. I hope you’re a good tipper.”

He took the container from her, unable to look away from her beautiful face.

“I was wondering,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, “if you had an extra heart, mine seems to have been stolen.”

Her brows furrowed, “You only asked for a liver. And who steals a heart? Maybe Mrs. H threw it out? I told her to call me if she needed things removed.”

“No, no, no,” he panicked, “I meant my heart!”

“I’m only a pathologist but I’m pretty sure you still need it,” she joked, “You know, for the whole being alive thing?”

“My heart is yours!” he shouted at her, which was probably not the best way to confess one’s feelings. But desperate times…

She giggled nervously, “Well, it’s always nice when people donate their bodies to science.”

Her hands were fidgeting with her jumper, so he took them in his. They were a bit cold and he rubbed some warmth back into them.

“Not science, Molly. You. I give it to you. Although I would very much like to donate my body to science when I die, which probably _is_ going to be before you. Statistically speaking, that’s very likely given my job, my habits and family history. I’m hoping that it’s an event far into the future. At least forty years, enough time for you to make good use of my heart. Because, as I said, it’s yours.”

“Sherlock…I…”

“I’m sorry, that came out in a rush. And mentioning my eventual death doesn’t help, I understand that. I’ve never made a confession like this before and I am certain I shall never do so again, as this is it for me. I mean, you are it for me. For all the time you want me or until death, whichever comes first… Yes, yes, I know, stay away from the mention of death.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, squeezing his hands, “I work in a morgue.”

They burst into laughter and it took a while to compose themselves. This, he thought as he was holding his stomach from mirth, this is the life I want to have and with Molly by his side, it would be so. And because he just felt so damn happy that she finally knew how he felt, he threw caution to the wind, no longer caring how cheesy it sounded.

“Come live in my heart and pay no rent.”

Molly scrunched her nose but giggled. “How about a proper date first?”

“Let’s start with that.”

And so they did.


	50. Lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When your bra turns against you, write silly fic.

John had been summoned to Baker Street this morning for a case. However, to his surprise, the consulting detective, who usually was impatient to start their investigation, had not been ready to leave the flat when he’d arrived.

So with the morning paper clutched under his arm and a cup of tea from Mrs. H in his hand, John sat down on his chair, knowing he had at least twenty minutes until Sherlock would be joining him.

John wiggled his body- trying to get the cushion at his back into a more comfortable position - when something suddenly poked him. He reached behind to investigate and was astonished to find a pretty lace bra in his hand. He goggled, unsure what to make of it.

* * *

 

When Sherlock finally emerged from his room, showered, shaved and suited, John had the undergarment draped over the arm of his chair. A person way less observant than his friend would’ve noticed the brightly coloured bra, so of course, it took less than a second for Sherlock to see it. A curious blush and an even more curious smile appeared on his face.

“It’s a bra,” John said, mentally wincing at how stupid that sounded.

“I can see that,” Sherlock drawled, taking the garment, caressing the fabric with his fingers.

“And who does it belong to?” He was fairly certain it wasn’t Sherlock’s. The size was too small.

Walking away, Sherlock threw a “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell” over his shoulder, then disappeared into his bedroom, firmly shutting the door.

If this was another Janine situation, he was going to have some stern words with his friend. The thought also conjured up some unpleasant feelings, remembering the chain of events that followed the last time Sherlock had fake dated someone to get information. Yes, John and Mary’s marriage was actually stronger as a result of that but a small residual hurt still flared up on occasion.

Sherlock came back out of the bedroom, and to the shock of John, followed by Molly Hooper. His mind boggled and he had to blink twice to make sense of what he was seeing.

“The abstract,” Sherlock announced, Molly tucked into his side, “Not for a case, not an experiment, not because I’m bored or high. It’s serious with long-term intentions. You are the first we told officially.”

“We’ve been meaning to let you all know.” Molly sheepishly smiled.

“Eh…right.” John was all managed, still blinking and processing.

“I’ll see you later, take care,” Molly said to Sherlock, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek.

“Come along now, John.”

“Eh…yes…yes. Uh, bye Molls.”

She smiled at him, “Bye, John.”

He followed Sherlock down the stairs, with too many questions and unsure where to start. His friend suddenly stopped at the bottom step, making him bump right into him.

“Oi!”

“I’ll be right back,” Sherlock said and hurried back upstairs.

“Sherlock?” he heard Molly say, followed by an “Oh!”, a giggle and then something crashing against the door.

And because he needed to tell someone, he called Mary.

“So they’re admitting it now?” was Mary’s very calm reply to his very big news.

“I’m the last to know, am I?” he asked his wife.

Mary made a sympathetic noise, “Luv, everyone else knows only because we’ve accidentally walked in on them. Consider yourself lucky.”


	51. I Can't Help Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by andydona-chan: Molly likes to sing and dance to her favorite music while cleaning, one day Sherlock arrives, finds that he likes the music too and starts dancing with her much to her surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a prompt to distract me from some real life bs and this fluffy thing happened. Who says writing fic can't comfort you? (Links are provided within the fic for the songs.)

Molly hated cleaning her flat, it was just not one of her favourite things to do. So to make it less tedious, she often put her favourite album on to keep her motivated. Dancing and singing loudly - and at times totally off key - to Motown songs made the chore…well, less of a chore.

She was so engrossed with belting out “Stop! In the Name of Love” and pretending that she and her hoover were doing back up for Diana Ross, that she was totally unaware that Sherlock had entered her flat.

He watched her, a smile hovering on his lips. If he noticed how nice her bum looked in the leggings she was wearing, well, he had eyes, did he not? Maybe he did notice a lot about Molly Hooper, things that weren’t strictly relevant.

Just then, the song ended, Molly turned and shrieked upon seeing him. “Bloody hell, Sherlock, you gave me a fright!”

And before she could berate him some more, he moved towards her, took her hands and started dancing with her. Well, at first it was just him bopping to the rhythm, with her looking at him completely bemused. But when he started mouthing the words - [“I can’t help myself”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z59EVHU8MjI) \- she laughed and joined in.

He twirled her around the small living room, making her laugh giddily, which elicited a joyous chuckle out of him. Dancing had always been a secret pleasure of his and doing it with Molly, one of the dearest people in his life, made him feel lighter than he had felt in years.

She didn’t quite understand what was happening but decided to enjoy it for as long as she could. Which was longer than she thought it would be - having assumed they’d break apart embarrassed after the song ended - but Sherlock pulled her closer and swayed with her to the next one, [a slower number](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNS6D4hSQdA).

“My parents used to play music like this all the time when I was younger,” he said.

His breath tickled her ear and she had a moment of self-consciousness, worried about her sweaty state. But as she tried to pull away, he only held on tighter and she surrendered into his embrace.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her hoover, idly standing by, and she knew that she would never grumble about cleaning again if it meant she could have this every time.


End file.
